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ventiskies · 3 years

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When he rejects you | Chongyun, Scaramouche, Albedo

a/n: hello friends!! i apologize for my somewhat disappearance TwT im currently having exam season but i couldnt help but write something for my favorite three (and yes, scara is there... and honestly, I don't know when I started simping for him either but you can now call me a future scaramouche haver >:)) so not a request, but do enjoy !! <3 (apologies if there are any errors!!)

pairing: chongyun x gn! reader, scaramouche x gn! reader, albedo x gn! reader (platonic)

Chongyun

★ Chongyun, Xingqiu and you had been best friends since you were kids. And although you were a trio, you and Chongyun had always known each other much longer.

★ If your life were a book, it would be a sweet childhood best friends growing up together genre, something that often piqued Xingqiu’s interests when he drags the two of you to Wanwen bookhouse

★ The books you had borrowed from Xingqiu about them all ended with the same thing; that they end up becoming a couple and growing up together. Reminiscing about their childhood youth when they were old.

★ You knew not to trust the books or use them as a guide, but just like the books, you had grown to fall in love with the icy-haired boy.

★ Chongyun was like a breath of fresh air. His determination in exorcising ‘evil spirits' to the point that he blindly falls for Xingqiu and your pranks were the things that you loved about him. He was filled with enthusiasm and positivity (literally).

★ You grew into enjoying his positive attitude, you couldn't imagine a day going by without Chongyun telling you and Xingqiu about a so called 'haunted' place he had found, and forcing the two of you to come with him. and even if it had ended without meeting a single spirit, he would still be in high spirits.

★ you loved it, seeing the rush of thrill he feels whenever he senses a spirit nearby, hoping the spirit was able to withstand his excessive yang energy. the repeating days without one successful exorcism, only to end up getting treated to a meal by Xingqiu, and the parting that always ends with a promise to see each other the day after. Chongyun speaks his emotions, and you were in love with that.

★ and him, just in general.

★ And one day, you had decided to tell him just that

★ You were both on the hunt for Jueyun chilies for Xiangling, a small commission that you had decided to take on while waiting for Xingqiu to finish his work at the guild. The sun had set, and you had returned from Qingce village with a bucket full of the chilies and had decided to rest on top of the mountain where you had both Waypointed to just to admire the sunset.

★ In the heat of the moment, you had spoken.

“I like you, Chongyun,” you had said, looking at him with a smile.

★ You would have accepted a silence. You had expected it to be like the books; he would gently laugh and look at you, admitting that he had been waiting for you to say the exact words, lean in to kiss you. It would be awkward at first, but it’ll also be something to look back to in the future when kissing becomes something you do every day. You’d return back to Liyue Harbor hand in hand, and be able to tell Xingqiu and Xiangling that he was your boyfriend now, and admit to the former that maybe his books were right.

★ But instead, you were met with Chongyun’s wide eyes staring at you. His cheeks flushed red with what you had tried hard to hope was shyness, but had appealed more like panic. He had stood up and cleared his throat

“We- we should get back,” he says, too quickly for someone as calm as he is. And you knew it was a wrong step, “I’m-,” he clears his throat, “I’m going to go ahead first. I'm sorry,”

★ You didn’t know if he was apologizing for leaving early, or for not being able to accept your feelings, but when you hadn't seen him the following day, you could only assume.

Scaramouche

★ Honestly, you had it coming for you.

★ Scaramouche is someone whose life is their job. There was nothing that could distract him from working for the Tsaritsa

★ You had (been self-entitled) as his best friend. And honestly, if Scaramouche knew of it, he doesn't blame you. Everyone in the Fatui and who worked under the Fatui knew how close you were. Which was odd because, for one, you were absolutely nothing like him. Although you weren't exactly liked by everyone, you weren't loathed by everyone like the sixth harbinger was.

★ Scaramouche was feared by anyone who hears his name or walks a foot away from him, while you carried a calmer aura. Without glancing, Scaramouche could bring his subordinates trembling, while they would greet you when you pass by them.

★ You were polar opposites, and yet, everyone has seen the two of you together so much that when he wasn't with you or the other way around, people would assume you were on a solo mission or just leaving the other’s quarters

★ Of course, being his best friend, you weren’t spared of his usual harsh words. As a matter of fact, you probably had it much worse than anyone else. It had almost seemed as if every time he spoke, he spoke like he was trying to get rid of you.

★ But if that really were the case, then he hasn’t been trying his best. You had stayed with him since you had become an ally to the Fatui, and ever since then had stayed by his side. When others shake in fear, you shake your head with a laugh and a retort.

★ It had even come as a surprise to you when you had realized you had fallen for the harbinger. You would think that spending time with such a foul-mouthed person who would murder someone in the blink of an eye with no hesitation would make you dislike him. But that didn’t happen.

★ In fact, it was quite the opposite. You had fallen in love with him.

★ It wasn’t obvious to anyone, and even you had to take the time to squint to look for it. But Scaramouche did care for you in his own way. Whether it be toning down the harsh words when he sees your mood dampen after a mission, or beating the shit out of a person who had attacked you ruthlessly, not stopping even after his hands were covered in crimson liquid and the person almost certainly died. Even if he calls you a hindrance afterward for dirtying his hands, he definitely thought of you the same as you thought of him.

★ A friend.

★ Or, you had hoped, something more.

★ It was a mistake to take his slight kindness as a sign of him liking you, it truly was.

★ During your journey to Inazuma for a mission, you had decided to confess to him out of the blue. You knew he was someone who could predict the outcome of something even before you said anything, so a slow confession when the sun was setting in a field of flowers would just be a waste of time. if there was something you learned, it's to cut to the chase with him.

“Hey Scara,” you had said quietly. He had replied with a low hum, not turning back to look at you, “I like you.”

★ Without a second thought, Scaramouche had taken you by surprise as well.

★ He had not stopped in his tracks, instead, his shoulders shook in laugher. His laugh wasn't the same laugh you hear whenever you make a stupid mishap or get slightly injured during a simple mission- no, those laughs were warmer. Although laced with unkindness, they were more familiar.

★ This one was condescending. As if you were a new recruit again, having to work under him. As if all those years as friends had just gone down the drain.

“Stupid. What a fool of me to assume you were different.” he says, voice clear as a bell in the night, “don’t be an inconvenience. I don't have time for people like you.”

Albedo

★ Ever since working under Albedo with Sucrose, your life had been nothing but full of wonder. Although some were dangerous, Albedo and you bonded easily as if you had worked together in a past life.

★ Albedo was a genius. He was someone you looked up to, and sometime during your investigations, he had become a friend. You didn't know when it started. When it had gone from two alchemists staying the night in Dragonspine to observe the different stages of new plant growth, to- with the permission of the acting grandmaster - just two people, two friends, going out to explore the seven nations.

★ Sucrose and Timaeus had stayed back in Mondstadt to finish experiments that you both had decided to put on hold for your trip, and with nothing to worry about, the two of you had gone out with nothing but the protection of each other (and your visions, of course), and a few packed meals from Good Hunter.

★ Albedo had a side that no one saw unless they spent nights camping with him in the middle of nowhere. You were one of the lucky people who were able to see that side of his during your trips around the seven.

★ The alchemist wasn't just curious about the way the world works, he had also been curious with, well, you.

★ Some nights when he couldn't go to sleep (which was often. You’d be surprised to see how messed up his sleep schedule was), he would sit in front of the fire you had both worked hard to make, and simply talk.

★ sometimes, it would be short conversations. but more than often, you find yourself talking about everything and nothing until the sun rose above the mountains, and you would have to continue your journey until one of you (usually being you,) were too tired to continue.

★ Albedo talks with passion, no matter what the topic is. He could be talking about what you were going to be having for dinner for the next night before you reach the first region in your trip, and he would already have you captivated.

★ Albedo also talks with gentleness. And this was the said side not a lot of people would be able to see from the chief alchemist. Whenever the tent was filled with comforting silence, you would be able to hear Albedo asking you questions about yourself. They weren’t your standard, what was your dream growing up? Kind of questions, but they were more specific. More… personal.

★ Is it not funny, how life works? What if a single moment had changed in the past, I and you wouldn't have met. He would question, eyes trained to the flames burning in front of him. It sounded rhetorical, but his tone was laced with wonder. He sounds as if he was expecting an answer, but he doesn't urge you for one. And every time he does, you merely hum.

★ Albedo was gentle in everything he did. Almost all the time you were with him, he had never acted brashly. He was patient, kind.

★ and that was most likely what had prompted your crush on the alchemist

★ crushing on Albedo was like looking up at the stars. he was someone who shined brightly, but you knew he was too far to reach, yet despite that, you had still attempted to.

★ you had decided to finally let it all out on him the night of your final stay before you reached your final region, which was Inazuma.

★ and that, you had realized a little too late, had been the icing on top of a really terrible cake.

"Albedo," you had stared, and the alchemist immediately turned towards you. that was something you had grown fond of. you knew Albedo was a man married to his work, so when he turns to you in the midst of it, you felt your stomach churn in delight, "I have to tell you something,"

“Hm?” he hums, setting his notepad down to give you his full attention, “what is it, y/n?”

★ You took a deep breath, and the moment you had opened your mouth to tell him, you had a sinking feeling you had made a huge mistake.

“I like you, a lot,” you muttered, “not just platonically, Albedo. I… I think you're really interesting. and if you'd like, I would love to be with you. ”

★ Albedo’s face had fallen, and although it had been the slightest, you had still noticed it. He looked at you as if the cogs were turning in his brain, and finally, he looks down

“I must apologize,” he starts, and you feel your stomach drop, “but I’m not interested in you that way, y/n. If it makes you feel better, I see you as a very dear friend,”

★ You nod, apologizing to Albedo before he offers a small smile before continuing his research

★ You both did not speak of it, but there was a very thick air of silence hangs over the two of you afterward, that didn't dissipate even after you both left the camp.

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

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Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet.

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo card!

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork.

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face.

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross.

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it.

Well, you love him for a lot of things.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.”

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.”

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.”

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around.

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.”

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice.

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young.

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter.

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away.

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either.

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles.

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option.

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart.

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer.

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —”

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.”

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face.

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness.

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish.

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.”

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully.

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?”

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.

“Except they’re babies,” you add.

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You swallow hard. “For what?”

“Being honest.”

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

He’s quiet again.

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this.

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here.

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real.

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe.

You’re asleep before the next commercial break.

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why.

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.”

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.”

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.”

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now.

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up.

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence.

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black.

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it.

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator.

This is crossing a line, and you both know it.

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Maybe you’re both trembling.

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel.

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.”

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message!

More Criminal Minds fic is here.

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years

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Natural Attraction - Confrontations (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Yawning, you find yourself still dozing off while stretching out your legs, waiting for Fiddleford to finish packing up his tent while the twins bicker about the “correct” way to fold a sleeping bag. You smile to yourself, cracking open an eye and biting your tongue from making a comment about this being why you’d brought a quilt instead, but you keep it to yourself as you lean forward to stretch. Wincing as you roll your injured ankle back and forth, you’re reminded of the night you’d dealt with.

It ached as you adjusted your shoe on your foot, tying the shoelaces tighter to try and support your ankle a little better for the trek ahead. Ford hasn’t said much (to you, anyway--he’s still very wordy when it comes to his current argument with his brother as the both of them shove differently-folded sleeping bags away into their respective packs), but you’re certain that the day will prove to be long and tiring. Still, as you fix the tops of your socks, you have an odd sense of...hopefulness? Excitement? You aren’t sure, but the anticipation is strong.

The sensation only grows as Stan comes toward the tree you’re leaned up against. Warmth flutters in your stomach when he catches your eye, a knowing sort of smile spread across his cheeks when he adjusts his and your bags onto his shoulder. He clears his throat as he reaches his hand down to you, his smile warming you from the inside. “Hey, you. About ready to head out?” He asks, voice soft with an almost-gravelly sleepiness which makes you smile.

As I’ll ever be, you answer as you take his hand. Stan pulls you up slowly, your hand in his with his other arm outstretched to catch your side, just in case. Wincing as you put weight onto your tweaked ankle, you hold to Stan a little tighter, all the while hearing his voice whisper soft encouragements until you’re upright. “That’s it, honey--slower, slower,” he soothes. You’re unsure if it’s his words, the gravel in his voice, or proximity, but your cheeks flush at his soft urging, a flutter in your chest. His outstretched arm is closer now, that hand resting securely on your lower back to remind you of its presence, gently brushing his thumb against your hip (which, frankly, doesn't help, since the flutter only moves to your belly).

“There ya go, hon. Y’feeling any better today?” Stan levels his gaze to you, the concern knitting his brows together in a way that makes you smile, averting your eyes quickly so he can't see the tenderness there. You reach, patting his chest lightly to ease his mind when you meet his eye again, Feeling just fine, thank you.

“Kissed you all better?” He asks low, voice playful as he quirks a brow down at you. You flush as your own brows shoot upward, pushing lightly on his chest as you urgently shush him, looking toward where Ford and Fidds are chatting. The both of them quickly avert their gazes, knowing smiles still spreading their cheeks as they turn away--you almost wish you hadn’t caught them looking.

Your cheeks burn despite your smile, giving the cocky man ahead of you a stern look, Don’t be so obvious, Stanley, you tease in a whisper, your thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of the white tank top he wears, acting as though you’re smoothing down his shirt. Your hands drop away with one final pat, smiling wider when he looks at you with something akin to surprise. “Sorry, hon. Just...a little giddy this morning, is all.”

Wonder why? You hum in question, shaking your head as you hold out your hand toward him. At first, he stalls, eyeing your hand with a furrowed brow, questioning. He reaches to take your hand, a bashful sort of smile growing on his face before you motion to your bag. He coughs a gruff sound, and you only barely save him the embarrassment this time, looking down as you feel your smile at his pinkened cheeks. He releases your hand easily, trading its place with the strap of your bag as he turns to look toward the other two instead, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. You take the duffle bag, looping your arms into the straps to turn it into a good-enough backpack for the trek ahead.

You stretch your ankle gingerly, biting into the inside of your cheek. Surely, there should be some sort of tracks for your creature somewhere around here… Moving carefully to test your first few steps, you crouch beneath a tree limb, leaving the familiar grassy space to try and find your next clues to where it may be.

“Hey--don’t run off!” Fiddleford scolds from his place beside Ford, taking a few steps as he reaches, as if to catch you in the act, “Even if it’s sunny out, yer luck hasn’t been great for the past….well, 12 hours.” You almost laugh, shaking your head, Not running off, just...trying to find where we go next, you explain. He keeps walking closer, a little smile budding on his face as he comes to join you. “At least lemme help you,” he teases, pushing away a branch near the top of your head. You look over to him and duck under it as you laugh, Thanks, Fidds.

“The last tracks we’d seen were just that direction,” He points toward the unnervingly-familiar patch from the night before, and you frown as you take a few more tentative steps. “I’m sure there’s more o’them somewhere around here....”

Fidds moves alongside you, the both of you looking for some sort of indication of the creature. It’s almost frustrating--you’re certain something had to be here, some sign of the damn thing. You finally huff, a frown pulling at your lips when you look to Fiddleford, not far off in his own search. “I can’t find anything, either--”

“Hey, uh...guys?” Stan’s voice calls from the other side of the brush, sounding almost concerned in a way that makes your stomach drop in worry. Your eyes meet Fidds’, sharing a furrow-browed glance between you as you both move toward the grassy spot once more, toward Stan’s voice.

Stan? Are you okay? You call, looking out from the brush, your question joined by Ford’s voice, calling at the same time, “Stanley?”

You spy the twin as he’s readjusting his pants, buttoning his fly and re-buckling his belt as he walks up the hill you’d been ‘attacked’ at the night before. You quirk a brow, eyes trained on his fingers at his belt before realizing what he had been doing that far down the hill, feeling a flush as you quickly look up to his face instead.

“What’d you see?” Ford asks his twin, knowing the tone of his voice well. “Well, ah...remember when she,” Stan motions to you, “had an owl bothering her last night? It was around here, right?” He asks you with a furrowed brow, hands finished with the buckle as he motions to the ground near the top of the hill. You finally look at him again, biting your lip as you nod, Right over, uh….here, you say, eyes narrowing at the spot he’s referring to. In the area you’d fallen, you can see the scuff marks of your shoes going down the hill, and a strange indentation in the grass, right in the same spot.

“...Huh,” Fiddleford hums, moving to the dip in the grass and pushing some of the longer tufts away, finding two large tracks, looking very much the same as the tracks you’d followed from the cabin.

“There’s no way,” Ford murmurs, rushing ahead closer to see the tracks, too. He looks up, toward the direction of the trees where you’d all seen the owl last night. “If these are here, that must mean, either the owl last night was much bigger than we’d all expected, or--”

“Or your big ‘birdlike thing’ came around afterward to check us out.” Stan finishes, crossing his arms. He looks almost uncomfortable, looking over you with something unreadable in his gaze before pointing the same look towards his brother and Fiddleford. “I guess it makes it easier to track, but...I dunno, I’m a little weirded out that the thing is as interested in us as we are in it.”

“Nonsense,” Fiddleford shakes his head, standing from where he’d crouched with a quiet grunt, “We don’t have all those pieces, Stanley--we can’t just assume the thing’s a menace, just ‘cause it ends up near our campsite. Maybe it’s more a sign that we just… tracked it real good?”

You shrug, I’m sure it’s just an...odd, albeit helpful, coincidence. Stan doesn’t look swayed, arms still folded across his chest. Sighing, you nod, I admit, it’s weird. And a creature my size being hunted by an owl isn’t normal by any means, but...is anything in this town normal? You pose the question toward the man, who’s still frowning down at you in uncertainty. He finally sighs, relenting, “Not at all. Alright. But if this gets freakier, I say we call it off and head home.”

Ford scoffs at his brother’s insistence, shaking his head. “If the creature is hostile, that’s even more reason to track it,” He argues, continuing, “God forbid the thing tries to come for the town.”

Stan’s brow furrows, and you can instantly tell that his brother has struck a nerve. “God forbid the thing goes after one of us again! Especially her!” He scowls, motioning to you with his hand as he takes a step closer to his twin. “The fucker’s got big feet, look,” he points down to the tracks, “If he decides to grab one of us and fly off next time one of us goes off for a piss, we’re screwed.”

Ford rolls his eyes, but says nothing more as he shakes his head. You can tell the action annoys Stan, the latter clenching a fist at his side. You reach to him, one hand landing on Stan’s arm to pull his focus back. He turns to look at you, a frown still on his face, but more relaxed now.

eI know you’re worried, you start, smile warming up, But you know...I can handle myself. You wink, putting up your fists as if prepping to fight. The action makes him scoff a laugh, shaking his head at you as he speaks, “Right--I almost forgot, you’re a killer.” He winks, a hint of the dimple at his cheek peeking out at you, even as he rubs at his face to calm down a little. He takes a breath and you release his arm, eyeing Ford and Fidds, the latter being the only one who meets your eye (and rolls his own, apparently very used to the duo’s mini-arguments).

Alright boys, you say with a smile, pushing your thumbs into the straps that rest on your shoulders when all three heads turn to look at you, I’m ready to track down a weird bird creature, how about you?

“Of course!” Ford laughs as he answers, argument easily dismissed. He moves, only struggling a little as he hoists his heavy backpack into place. Fiddleford snickers at the brunet, pulling one of the straps of the backpack up to help the man put his arm through the loop, “Hold onto yer britches, Ford--there you go.” The taller man smiles wide at his friend before nodding at you, “I’ve been ready. We’ve gotta take advantage of the daylight for as long as we’ve got it.” You smile at Fiddleford in agreement, glancing to Stan beside you with a quirked brow, surprised to find him already looking your way.

Stanley finally grins, his gaze catching you off guard in a way that makes your chest flutter, and you find yourself mimicking his smile when he reaches to clap a hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ford pipes up, instantly making the former twin’s smile falter. Ford doesn’t seem to notice, taking one last glance around at the grassy space you’d used as a resting point for the evening, just to be sure. “We haven’t got time to lose. As you so graciously found out,” He motions in your direction, peeking at you from over the rims of his glasses, “Being out in the dark isn’t quite the safest option we have, both in terrain navigation and… creature interaction, I suppose.”

You scoff a quiet, No shit, which causes Stan to snort a laugh beside you. All things considered, last night wasn’t too bad, but… bits of it were scary, to say the least. The ache in your foot reminds you to keep your eyes on the ground just as much as you’re watching for signs of the creature, though it seems the boys are doing their best to keep you on your feet, too.

Unlucky only begins to describe the hike of the day. After the strap on Ford’s backpack broke, and Stan had to cut himself out of a thorny bramble with just a pocket knife, the four of you were sure that the rest of the day would be a little easier.

You were wrong, you realized, when the only-slightly-cloudy sky became much more cloudy and started thundering.

“Fuckin’...” Stan grits, using the bottom of his already soaked t-shirt to wipe away the rain mingling with sweat dripping down his forehead, “Did any of you geniuses decide to check the weather before we set off to find your little monster?”

“It’s just a little rain, Stanley,” Ford scoffs, walking ahead of his brother, “Contrary to popular belief, you won’t melt.”

“Y’could track any kind of creature with your heavy machine, but you can’t even turn on the tv to look at the news once in a while? Especially when the whole damn family’s coming out on a hike?” The twin argues, and even though he’s kind of chewing you out too, you find yourself snorting a laugh. It is a little ridiculous, you can admit. It’s even more ridiculous when Ford whips around to look back at his brother in annoyance, and you see him squinting at the both of you, glasses absolutely useless as they rest atop his head, fat water droplets sticking to the lenses and rolling off to saturate his hair even more. Stan snorts then, casting a glance to you as he does, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” Despite his frustration with the weather, Stan’s voice holds no real malice, the indent in his cheek almost giving him away as he continues to follow his brother and Fiddleford.

“Dammit, if we could just...get somethin’,” Fidds murmurs, his own glasses folded closed and hanging from the collar of his button-up. “Even if it’s rainin’, there should be a sign of the creature somewhere, right?” He turns back to look at you, an almost pleading look in his eye. You jog a little, boots squelching in the muddy ground as you get closer to the front of the pack.

Surely there’s some signs, you agree, offering a sympathetic smile his way. Fidds is intrigued by this thing, you can tell; maybe even a little more than he usually is in the creatures you find in town. As you look for a sign, any sign, you step a little quicker, getting in front of the pack. Really, there should be something…

The more you look, you realize, the more you find. Whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re unsure. Guys! You call, turning to look over your shoulder at the group and finding yourself considerably further away from them than you’d expected. There are tracks here in the mud! I-I think it might have trouble flying in the rain? Your voice lifts like a question, Ford’s voice calling after you over the rain, “Wait for us! We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” he warns. You know he’s right; as it begins to storm in earnest now, the grass and earth at your feet seem to relax beneath you, steadily becoming mush at your heels.

You wait just a few moments more for the boys to catch up, hearing the muted sounds of their huffing and puffing up to you. Entranced, you stare down at the muddied floor of the forest, the tracks in the mud seeming to beckon you to follow them. If you were fast enough, you might be able to snap a picture of the prints without your camera getting too wet. It would help in tracking the creature further, and whatever research comes next…

You bite at your bottom lip as you adjust your bag onto your shoulder, rummaging through the slightly-damp insides as Fidds catches up to you, looking down at the tracks much like you had been. “Woah,” He starts, almost breathless, “These are the best prints we’ve seen from this thing yet! Lookit--you can see every segment of the thing’s foot, all the way to its claws...How big d’ya think this thing is? The whole foot’s almost as big as my hand,” The honey blond man crouches down, even in the mud, to inspect and absorb as much information as he can, stretching his palm next to the print but not touching the mud beneath.

I don’t know if that’s an accurate measurement, you tease with a grunt, turning your back to the heaviest of the rain and the other tracks, You’re a tall, lanky guy. If its claws are that big, I’m sure it may be proportionally huge, you finish with a laugh. He glances up to see you fumbling just a little, trying to block the rain from hitting your camera full force and get the footprint and his hand in the shot all at once. Fidds snorts a laugh, and you smile as you shake your head down to him, your wet hair mimicking the motion out of the corner of your eye as you scoff a fond, Shut up.

In your movement, you’ve turned to be able to watch as the other two boys make their way up to you, glancing to see the both of their bodies coming into view, smile still on your face when you look through the viewfinder to center the shot. You know you don’t have much time left to have your camera out in this rain without ruining some film or the mechanisms inside it, so you’re quick to press the button, even as you hear Fiddleford gasp at something behind you at the same moment. The flash of your camera goes off, the light similar to a strike of lightning, illuminating the woods around you in one brief second. You move the camera from your face, reaching to start and put it away despite the sound of it printing the snapshot.

Fidds, what’s wrong? You ask over the loud rain, turning your head in time to look at him, seeing…fear? You don’t have the time to think or ask anything else as Fiddleford stands abruptly and grips your arm, nearly knocking your camera from your hand as he yanks you back toward the way you came. You yell out, frightened by the sudden change in the man, until you turn your head to see why.

“WATCH OUT!” Stan’s voice bellows over the downpour, suddenly so much closer than you’d imagined. When you’d glanced up at them, you hadn’t noticed the duo were running, mud caking their shoes and the bottom of their pant legs as the twins made their way toward you and Fidds. Now they’re right in front of you, looking up and over you with something akin to fear as Stan throws something--you think a rock--at the thing.

This must be the creature, the feeling of dread in your stomach at the sight of it reminding you of the hillside incident the night before. It stands somehow taller than you’d imagined on the feet that match those prints, a mass of pitch-colored ….hair? feathers? looming tall against the trees of the forest. You’re not sure where its height ends and its wingspan begins, neither more entrancing, or terrifying, than its eyes. Big, red and almost-shining eyes watch as you’re pulled by Fidds, nearly running face-first into the chests of the Pines men. The rock Stan threw hits it square in where its chest would be, were it a man, and the creature seems to puff up more, appearing larger as its wingspan opens, remarkable and terrifying all at once even as they drip with the incessant rain.

The four of you watch up at the beast, wide-eyed. You would almost swear Ford was enamored with the thing, if it weren’t for the tightening of his grip on Fidd’s sleeve, all of you panting from either exertion or pure adrenaline-toned fear. Thinking on your feet, you push down on the camera’s shutter and point the thing at the creature, hoping for a moment that the flash would blind it as you back into Stan’s chest. In the same instant, lightning strikes, rendering your flash useless as the thundering clouds rumble loud enough to feel in your chest, the storm right atop you now. The creature rears back, then lets out a high, wailing screech unlike anything you’ve heard before. It steals your breath, and before you can react, Stan has a hand wrapped around your arm, fingers firm in his grip to you as he pants, a word stumbling from his lips in one harsh breath.

“Run.”

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #grunkle stan x reader #[mr. mystery]#pspspsps come get y'all juice #but also tell me if you like my fic please i like interaction

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sun-moon-stars-jedi · 3 years

Text

So, I have this idea for a Batfam time travel fanfic that starts when Jason, Tim and Damian are somehow teamed up for a mission (the disaster is practically inevitable from the beginning, but everyone else was either busy or injured, so Bruce had to begrudgingly send them out together) and just as you would expect, something goes terribly wrong.

Later Jason will say it was Tim’s fault because his cape got in the way and tripped Jason up, Tim will say Damian pushed him into Jason’s path so it was really Damian’s fault, and Damian will say that it was a reflection from Jason’s dumb helmet that blinded him and made him stumble into Tim, but regardless of what really happened, they somehow land right in the path of the strange ray gun their villain-of-the-week is wielding and are all hit by something that looks and sounds and feels like a bolt of lightning.

When they wake up, miraculously still alive and only a little bit sore, the warehouse around them is empty, their comms are dead, and once they make their way outside they quickly realize they’re in a Gotham years before their time.

Now, there are of course some very strict rules regarding time-travel and interacting with people they know in the past, but as their luck would have it, their entrance wasn’t exactly subtle (even in Gotham people notice lightning and thunder whithout a thunderstorm), and before they can even make it a block away from the warehouse Batman and Robin swing down from the rooftops and confront them.

Batman of course does his whole “Who are you and what do you want in my city” thing, complete with the growly voice and intimidating loom, but it’s not like that can faze any of his kids after all this time.

No, what gets to them, particularly Tim and Damian, is the teeny version of Dick standing next to Bruce. He can’t be any older than 11 or 12, and while Tim and Damian had both seen pictures and heard the stories, seeing their older brother standing as tall as he can (which isn’t all that tall even compared to them) in his bright yellow cape and the short pants next to Batman...well, can anyone really blame them for bursting out laughing?

That’s of course not the reaction Batman and Robin expect, and for a few seconds they just seem to freeze up in the face of these new costumed...cosplayers?? criminals?? vigilantes?? who are just laughing their asses off when faced with the dynamic duo.

Jason is the only one who doesn’t fall into hysterics (he can’t start laughing; he wore the short pants too and would only open himself up to even more ridicule in the future than he would already undoubtedly get from the two little twerps), and he’s also not stunned with surprise, because he knows exactly what’s going on here.

So, as the only capable person around (what else is new) he barks at Tim and Damian to cut it out and behave professionally. They’re on a mission after all, and they don’t want to antagonize Batman and Robin, do they?

Surprisingly they listen, Tim even mumbles somewhat of an apology at Robin, who still looks kind of sulky, but accepts it after a nudge from Batman.

Then there’s an awkward silence where both sides just look each other over, though it’s not as hostile as it was before, and with some quick mental math on how much he can tell Bruce Jason starts to explain that they’re also a vigilante team like them and don’t want any trouble, they had only made their way into Gotham because they’d tracked a lead.

Jason keeps everything deliberately vague and doesn’t mention the time-travel (he’s not even sure if Bruce and Dick had encountered something like it at this point and he absolutely doesn’t want to get thrown into Arkham because they think he’s delusional), but apparently his answers satisfy Bruce, because he loosens his stance and nods in approval.

Bruce asks if they need any help, what kind of case they’re working on, what their code-names are - they all have to come up with something fast here, because obviously Red Hood, Red Robin and Robin are precisely the worst names they could give Bruce and Dick in this time, so Jason calls himself Arsenal, Tim says Drake (still the worst name Jason has ever heard) and Damian says Flamebird, which is pretty cute Jason has to admit, though he will still definetly tease his brother about his choice once they’re back home.

It’s only when Bruce asks “And how long are you and your sons planning to stay in the city?” that Jason realizes Bruce thinks they’re a father/son(s) crime-fighting team the same as him and Dick and before he can think better of it he says “Not long.” in answer and leaves the other part of the question uncorrected, even though he can practically feel two pairs of eyes burning into his back with indignation.

The conversation moves on and somehow there never seems to be a good opportunity to rectify that, and so they eventually part ways with Bruce and Dick, planning to meet again the next night to exchange information.

Jason, the chaotic older brother that he is, can’t resist a “Come along now, sons” just as they leave - Tim and Damian are pissed, Jason isn’t their dad, he can’t tell them what to do, and once they’re out of Batman and Robin’s earshot they make their opinion on that very clear, but it’s too late now - for as long as they’re in this time they’ll have to pretend in front of Bruce and Dick.

As it turns out getting back home takes a little longer than Jason, Tim and Damian had initially hoped for, so they spend at least a week or two in this time, during which they meet Dick and Bruce pretty much every night and even begin to help out a little when something more dangerous goes down (though compared to what they’re used to, this version of Gotham is pretty tame).

Because Jason can’t resist annoying his brothers he fully lays into the dad role, calling them “son” or “sport” whenever he can and delighting in the furious glares he receives in return.

At some point it also becomes clear how much more experience the three of them have compared to Bruce and Dick, who have only been vigilantes for a couple of years at this point, and when this young Bruce openly asks Jason for advice on how to be a good vigilante dad because Jason obviously seems to have more experience than him, Jason doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

This young Bruce is still Bruce Wayne with all his faults of course, but he’s also a lot less jaded and world-weary and sad, so Jason gladly gives him some advice that he hopes makes some things better without breaking the entire time-line.

Meanwhile Tim and Damian learn first hand what a menace young Dick Grayson was - he disobeys orders, pulls dangerous stunts, fights in freaking short pants, but gets away with everything because of his puppy-dog-eyes and because Bruce was even more of a pushover back then than he is in their time.

Obviously Bruce and Dick never learn the true identities of their visitors or their connections to them in this time - one day the three of them just don’t show up anymore and when they investigate they find a post-it note in the warehouse where they’d first met them that just says “Gone home. See you some time in the future.” with the three names Arsenal, Drake and Flamebird signed underneath.

“It was pretty fun having other kids to talk to about all of this,” Dick says, sounding subdued as he looks at the note and Bruce knows he will probably regret this, but he just can’t stand to see his son sad.

“I heard Green Arrow has a side-kick now,” Bruce says, trying to sound casual, but the way Dick looks at him with tentative hope just makes his heart melt instantly. He would give this kid the world if he asked for it. “Maybe it would be a good idea to meet them.”

#batfam #jason todd #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #time travel #headcanon and a little bit of a fic in one #don't have the time to properly write this so here have my concept draft #this got so much longer than I thought...

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raindrops-and-tubestops · 3 years

Note

Random prompts - KyaLin: 14. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.”

Here you go Nonnie, I hope you enjoy! 💕

“Where is she?” Kya wasn’t wasting time.

The words were out of her mouth as soon as she ducked around the corner of the building. She crouched in front of the younger detective, waiting patiently for his his answer. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

Mako looked up in surprise, trying to find a frequency but getting only static from the radio on his hip. He had been pinned down at this corner for the better part of fifteen minutes.

How in the hell had Kya managed to get through?

As if wanting to answer his question, the Master Healer leant around the wall drawing water from the pouch at her hip. With a flick of her hands, that was probably more complicated than he was able to see, she sent a torrent of water out into the skirmish. He grinned as he heard screams and what sounded like bodies thudding against the stone of the street.

Looking back at him, she winked conspiratorially.

“Mako, honey,” she tried again, her voice softer, “where is she?”

He didn’t have to question who she was talking about. He could see the worry behind the blue eyes, all though anyone else only would have seen the determination. Kya needed to get to the Chief, Mako had a bad feeling about all this.

This whole debacle started twenty minutes before the end of shift. A call came over the emergency radio at the precinct that there was an attack on the new clinic just west of the new spirit portal. The Triads were trying to make a statement to the Chief of Police as well as the rest of the city.

They were able to establish a blockade before the fighting reached the inside of the clinic. The doors, front and back were barricaded. The patients and healers inside were safe, some were out here on the front lines working to heal the fallen officers, Kya included.

Mako swallowed, his throat dry and sticky, “The last I saw her, she was swinging on her cables in that direction.”

Kya followed his finger as it pointed across the street, landing on the roof tops of the alley way directly across from them. He watched her run through some things in her mind, maybe calculating the risks of crossing through the battle raging in the street.

As they peeked around the corner, it was clear there were no signs of either side stopping. There was fire flying through the air only to be intercepted by water from an unknown source, pieces of the street and the buildings rippled as they were manipulated by earthbenders from both sides.

Metal from nearby stalls and storefronts groaned as it was manipulated by officers, quickly shaping into flat sheets, encasing the wounded or protecting those volleying off counter attacks.

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed the shink of cables being released from their casing and subsequently Lin swinging across the street. She came to rest on the side of the clinic, one hand wrapped around the cables imbedded in the wall and the other gripping the hand hold she created on the brick.

Kya had a momentary flashback of when they were younger and Lin used to grip the walls of the Air Temple Island dormitories in the same manner…it never failed to freak her mother out. She chuckled quietly to herself, feeling the exact moment that Mako spied the Chief as well. The metalbender seemed to be looking for something, she was scanning the foray, clearly thinking she was up high enough to not be noticed.

But someone had noticed her…someone was silently curling a water tendril along the wall, not quite touching the stone. She wouldn’t be able to feel it.

Before Kya could call out, she watched as the tendril wrapped around Lin’s ankle, the look of shock on her face would have been comical in any other circumstance. The Chief was ripped from the side of the wall, disappearing from view behind a large pile of wreckage, her cables hanging lifeless, still attached to the wall.

The next thing Mako knew Kya was running, and then he was too, trying desperately to keep up with her impressive pace. He guessed it was the adrenaline and worry that made her so reckless, but at least he was there. The waterbender was able to doge most of the attacks flung her way as she rushed towards where the Chief was last seen, but Mako did fling the occasional blast of fire, he had to make sure she stayed safe at least.

Kya rounded the side of the wreckage where they had seen Lin disappear, tripping and landing in the water spread across the ground. She managed to keep her footing and pushed off the ground with the palm of her hands. She stopped short and if he hadn’t been paying attention, Mako would have slammed into the back of her.

The Chief was on the ground, lying extremely still..too still, the only thing that kept Kya from dropping to her knees was that she could see her chest rising and falling. Slowly, but it was a win nonetheless. Next to her, with a metal spike sticking out of their chest, was the waterbender Kya assumed had ambushed Lin. They weren’t moving, not even their chest.

Mako gripped her shoulder and brought her back to herself, the surroundings coming back into focus. They sprinted the rest of the way, Kya dropping to her knees next to Lin, barely registering the sting of her battered skin or the sound of Mako dragging the body away from them.

She pulled water from the flask at her hip and began to assess the younger woman’s injuries. A dislocated shoulder, a bruise on her right cheek discoloring the skin around her scars, a possible concussion…not sure how bad that was and two cracked ribs. She would be ok.

“Thank the spirits,” Kya mumbled, hanging her head in relief,

Mako was now crouched beside her, the blue glow of the healing water casting shows on all their faces. He would scan the surrounding area and then return his gaze to Kya and the Chief every so often.

Kya released the catches of Lin’s uniform, knowing just how unamused her wife was going to be when she regained consciousness and found herself in just her uniform pants and under tank. Kya stifled the absurd laugh that bubbled up, practically choking on it.

As the water was concentrated on her left side, the ribs, Kya could feel the awareness returning to her partner, her heartbeat picking up slightly. That was all the warning she got before Lin sat up, her forehead barely missing Kya’s.

“Whoa,” Kya intoned softly, Mako behind Lin instantly, offering her support, “take it easy Chief.”

Lin winced and moved to grab her head, her shoulder and ribs protesting violently.

“What the hell happened,” she groaned.

Kya was now focused on Lin’s head, trying to relive the pressure that was causing her partner to be slightly nauseous. The healer glared at the metalbender, Mako cowered in sympathy.

“Lin, what was Aunt Suki’s main rule in combat?”

The Chief looked at Kya in confusion, whether from the change in topic or from the head injury, Mako wasn’t sure.

The glare deepened, “What was it Lin?”

The anger in Kya’s voice immediately snapped the metalbender out of her daze. They connected eyes, snapping blue to sheepish green, and Lin was reminded of all the times she had seen those eyes. Most notably when they were caught sneaking back onto the island as children and when she did something particularly stupid. Kya may have taken after Uncle Aang in the Air Nomad sense, but her temper was all Aunt Katara.

“Keep track of your surroundings,” Lin sighed as the pressure in her head finally lifted.

“Yes Lin,” Kya continued, voice hard as she moved to the shoulder, “and what didn’t you do?”

Lin followed the movements and relented, “Keep track of my surroundings.”

Mako stifled a chuckled at the clearly admonished Chief…they needed to bring in Master Kya more often he thought.

Kya huffed, “Exactly, now this is going to hurt.”

As soon as she gave the warning Lin grit her teeth, sucking in a breath as Kya quickly reset the joint. The pop making Lin sick to her stomach, the searing pain keeping her from losing it completely. The ache was soon replaced by the cool feel of the healing water, a relief that Lin didn’t know she needed.

“I had the situation under control,” she bit out.

Kya went still, eyebrow raised in a challenge, and Lin had the good sense to back down slightly.

“Before or after that waterbender plucked you off the side of the building like a ripe moon peach?”

The Chief’s cheeks colored slightly, as she looked down at her lap. She started when she realized she was no longer wearing her uniform. The glare directed towards Kya was one for the books, she was not pleased.

Kya huffed indignantly, she could really give a shit right now.

Lin leant forward, taking some of her weight off Mako as the detective went to stand. She nodded towards the boy, a quiet thanks that he returned as he settled into a cautious stance.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming,” Lin relented.

Kya didn’t respond, just kept to her task, working to heal her wife. She was furious…and scared, Lin could sense the residual adrenaline in Kya’s system.

She inclined her head, trying to catch her wife’s eyes as she worked on the shoulder joint. When Kya finally gave in and looked up, Lin could see the sheen of tears just along the water line of her lashes. She cursed herself.

Lin leant forward and cupped the back of Kya’s head, their foreheads connecting, the air between them charged with emotion. She could feel Kya shaking, everything in the last hour finally catching up with her.

“I’m ok,” she reassured the healer, her voice gentle, “I’m sorry and I’m ok.”

Their lips met tentatively, soft at first but slowly growing desperate. The need to feel, to know that each other was alright, winning out over decorum. Mako turned slightly, giving them as much privacy as their situation could allow.

New Prompt List 💜

PS: the prompts can be original too 😊

#kyalin fanfic #kyalin #kya ll #kya x lin #lin beifong #lin beifong x kya #avatar the legend of korra #the legend of korra #my fanfic #prompts 💜

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siriushxney · 3 years

Text

⊱┊ searing light | chapter one

— pairing ; darkling!dream x sun summoner!reader

— au ; shadow and bone

— wordcount ; 1.7k

— warnings ; cursing, talks of war, no dream yet but he will appear somewhere in the next few parts!

series masterlist | next

the fold was scarier then you could've ever imagined — it stretched for miles upon miles, casting a shadow down upon where it stood. down onto the land of ravka. for centuries the blackness of it stood tall — no way to get through, under, or over safely. but despite the risks and dangers, with war raging on both sides of the country — you had no choice to go through for resources.

climbing out of the back of the truck, you could feel the rocks digging into the soles of your feet as you walked alongside the rest of your squadron — the cheap leather boots that were supplied to you and the rest of the first army, doing nothing to shield your feet from the rough and jagged ground. but despite the aching state that the boots left your feet in at the end of the day, you reminded yourself daily that it could've been worse. you could have been on the next skiff to enter the fold — the chance of coming back being slim to none.

anything was better than going into the fold.

“Y/L/N, why don’t you keep the move on?” another cartographer bumped their shoulder into your own, knocking you out of your tense state, and urging you to continue moving down towards your new camp.

everyone in ravka knew what the fold looked like — it was hard not to when it stood at unreachable heights and stretched the length of the country. but despite this, you had never been this close. no one ever spoke of the coldness it radiated, bringing a chill and goosebumps to anyone that dared to near it. and the thing that no one could have prepared you for at all was the sounds.

the sounds of the creatures that lived inside of the black barrier, screeching at deafening volumes and with such ferocity that it could send even the bravest of man or woman running for the hills.

with a deep breath and encouragement for yourself running through your head like a mantra, you pushed forward, closer and closer to the fold.

“Y/N!” you stopped in your tracks — the other cartographers passing you with quick feet and watchful eyes. turning, you caught a glimpse of a boy that you knew all too well — wilbur. while he was also in the first army, he was named a tracker due to his brilliant mind and tracking skills — skills that proved to be beneficial numerous times, making him one of, if not the best tracker in all of ravka. “you know, for a little mapmaker like yourself, you sure do have quick feet,” wilbur threw his arms around your shoulders, pulling you to continue walking beside him.

“you know, for an amazing tracker like yourself, you do stick out like a sore thumb — what if you're on enemy territory? they're gonna spot you from miles away, you tree.”

“I’ll have you know that despite my large stature, I’m quite good at blending into my surroundings — that and I don’t wear bright colours like them,” wilbur halted, standing awkwardly as he watched the group clothed in bright purple, blue, and red observed and trained with eagle like eyes — their hands drawn to grasp in front of their body as they waited their turn to strike the dummy.

them — the grisha.

grisha were people, much like you and wilbur, who were gifted with abilities like no other — abilities that could either take, or save a man's life. there were three orders of the grisha — the corporalki, the order of the living and the dead, who had people known as heartrenders, healers, and tailors; the materialki, the order of fabrikator’s who had people known as durasts and alkemi; and then there was etherealki, the order of the summoners, who had people known as squallers, inferni, and tidemakers.

but there was one being that you had heard about — someone they named the darkling. a grisha who did not possess an ability like any other — instead, he had the ability to summon and control darkness itself. a walking horror story with the ability to wipe out dozens if he wished.

he came from a line of them — a line consisting of only his families blood.

“I can feel their ego wafting onto us from here,” wilbur whispered slightly, not wanting any of them to hear due to their nature to lash out at people they considered ‘lower’ than themselves.

“no kidding,” you looked around the area in wonder, before looking down to your hands — a map that the head cartographer had handed each and every one of you before you arrived at the camp, displayed your tent being directly where the grisha now stood. “wait… this is where my tent is supposed to be, is it not?” you spun slightly as if it would magically appear.

wilbur stopped your spinning, and guided you towards a different area of the base. “they moved our tents this way, in order for the grisha to have more room — as if the entire upper region of the base wasn’t enough for them,” he couldn't help but grumble out now that he was farther away from the gifted individuals, throwing one more glare before looking ahead once more.

you casted one more look over your shoulder as you followed beside him — one grisha catching your eye for a moment before she turned away. the purple of her uniform — something that they called a kefta, catching your eye instantly alongside the grey embroidering on it. she was a durast — someone who could manipulate things such as steel and glass.

as much as grisha were dangerous and cold — they had a knack for looking their best at every waking moment, with a style that could kill. quite literally.

—

many of the first army stood shoulder to shoulder as they were awaiting orders — the general standing overhead with a paper in hand that no doubt held the list of names of the unfortunate people that would be ushered onto the skiff that would cross the fold.

wringing your hands nervously, you waited for your name or wilburs to be called, hoping and praying to any saint that would bother to listen. wilbur dug his elbow into your shoulder lightly, drawing your attention to him. “we’re among the youngest batch of the first army — we’re in the clear,” he spoke his words with such certainty. but as much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn't.

“I don’t know… I have a weird feeling, wil,” you gave him a serious look, only to be brushed off with a roll of his eyes. “I’m serious — somethings not right.”

wilbur brought a hand to your forehead, feeling for any sign of heat that could indicate sickness, before lowering it slowly and leaning it. “maybe you should rest — I think all those waffles you’ve eaten are making you fall ill,” while his joke was lighthearted, you couldn't help but sigh.

sigh over the fact that he didn’t believe you in the slightest, and sighing at the fact that you haven’t had a full meal, let alone waffles, in over five years — merely table scraps left over from the grisha’s wonderful and elegant meals they were served daily.

“attention soldiers! tomorrow is the first journey through the fold of this season, and we are taking volunteers!” the room laughed at that, the general included — no one sought out to enter the fold — you were selected and that was final. “knowing that none of you will volunteer however, I have taken it upon myself to select a group of you that will accompany the second army across the fold.”

the first army was full of people like you and wilbur — mapmakers, trackers, and ordinary soldiers that could barely hold their own in a fight. mere children when they entered the army, chosen based on how healthy they were. if you could walk, talk, and breathe normally — you were selected.

the second army however, is what the battles were one with — with grisha only ranks, they dominated against the fjerdans and the shu, two nations that had it out for ravka.

no one could bring themselves to laugh this time around — all too weary and nervous to crack a joke.

“entering the fold tomorrow will be… malyen oretsev, atlas cooper, wilbur soot...” you turned to wilbur in horror. “please come to the docks at 1600 for deployment. that will be all soldiers,” the general stepped down from the stage, leaving a room full of shocked, scared, and relieved soldiers.

he tried to put on a strong face for you, but you could see through it as if it were glass. the man that he was today had retreated into the scared and small boy who could never fight for himself. “wil…” you could only whisper tearfully, knowing full well that this moment could be the last time you’d ever see him.

wilbur slapped on the best smile he could in the situation, and pulled your into a hug. “I’m going to be okay, you hear me? if not you can kick my ass,” he laughed lightly in your ear, not able to hide the way his voice shook.

“I can’t kick your ass if you're hurt,” your mind searched for some way that you could fix this — perhaps it was a mistake? or maybe he could get out of it through faking an injury or a sickness. “what if I shot you in the foot?”

“you have a terrible aim.”

“if it means you stay, wouldn’t you take the chance?”

“I have to go.”

“wil-”

“Y/N,” he gave you a look — a look that you had given him minutes before. “I have to go — I have orders to, you know that.”

an order was an order. there was no way out. no amount of arguing, begging, or offering could buy your way out of doing something no matter what your case was, or what the order was. wilbur swore to follow orders at the beginning of his first army career, much like you had.

“I promise you I’ll come back to you.”

“you better,” your head lowered to his chest once more, basking in the warmth one more time before you had to let him go.

if there was really anything as saints, you prayed for them to watch over him.

he had to come back.

because you didn’t know what you would do if he didn’t.

— word bank

grisha [gree - shah] — unique individuals who have abilities

ravka — a country in the books of shadow and bone

corporalki [core - pour - ral - kee] — an order in the grisha

materialki [mat - eire - al - kee] — an order in the grisha

etherialki [ether - ree - al - kee] — an order in the grisha

fjerdan [fee - yair - den] — the ethnicity of fjerda residents

shu [shoo] — the ethnicity of shu-han residents

#searing light #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #::dreamwastaken #dream x reader #dream imagine #grishaverse au #shadow and bone au

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mcyt-imagines · 3 years

Note

okay can i request a technoblade x male!reader, where techno and the reader are fighting someone *maybe quackity its not important tho) together and the reader gets injured, techno gets worried but realizes the reader can handle himself? sorry if thats too specific

I have combined this request and another request for a male reader fluff fanfic, so the ending is a little softer than a fighting fic may usually be! However, this is basically gender-neutral, whenever I added gender-specific pronouns it seemed really forced?? So I just left that out, I hope that’s okay! Enjoy :D

Underestimated

It had only been a few days since Quackity’s butcher army attempted to publicly execute Technoblade. He hadn’t left your side since he returned home, hand in yours or arm wrapped around your waist as if to remind himself you were still here with him despite everything. Techno had been making preparations for another attack when he knew they would inevitably return to try again. But Techno never knows when to stop and start taking care of himself, that’s when you stepped in to pull him away from his plans and into your arms. It was as if the second his head hit your chest all adrenaline he had been running on the past few days, ran out. That was about 6 hours ago, and the two of you still had no intent on moving any time soon.

Your hands toyed with his hair as he continued to read slowly to you, glasses reflecting the soft warm glow from the nearby fire. It’s crackles had slowly been lulling you to sleep against Techno’s chest, mouth pressed loosely against his calm pulse. His hand rubbing soft circles into your skin at your back beckons you deeper into your subconscious, the soft rumbling of his voice fading fast in your ears.

A slam of the front door sends both yourself and Techno bolting up, tangled in long limbs and a lack of space as Phil comes into view from around your fireplace. “Quackity’s headed here!” Phil chokes out, obviously having run a considerable distance to deliver such a message, Techno stands, and you follow suit. “Already? He’ll be underprepared.” Techno mused, moving to start gathering his supplies. Tools recently sharpened, potions brewed days ago, and stacks of fireworks prepped for firing.

You mirror his actions, gathering your weapons with a bridled enthusiasm. You hadn’t been home when Quackity and his army had taken Technoblade and you had beat yourself up over that fact. Knowing that perhaps the outcome could have been different if you’d been there, you were going to make sure that was the case this time. Mind distracted by theoretical outcomes you equip your armour with practiced familiarity, knowing you’ve done this hundreds of times before. But only this time did it truly matter.

A hand presses to your shoulder and you turn, “You’re staying inside the house. You know I can’t lose you, not now, not ever.” His hand moves from your shoulder to your hips, squeezing softly. Your eyes search his and only find pain and worry. “I’m fighting with you; you know I can handle myself Tech.” He looks away from your face, unable to meet your gaze. He knows you’re right.

And he also knows you won’t take no for an answer. Especially considering they were able to take him to Manberg last time. “Fine.” He huffs out, “But you have to keep this.” Techno takes the golden charm off of his shirt, the small totem’s eyes glinting as he pins it to your shirt. You open your mouth to question him, “I have another for myself, don’t worry.” He meets your eyes then but only for a second, pulling you tightly to his chest. “Be safe my love.” His lips press soft atop your hair, “I always am.” You raise your head and meet his lips, hand cupping the back of his neck before pulling away with a smile. “Time to kick ass, huh?”

Even on the battlefield, you can tell that Technoblade is still worried, he is distracted by your presence in the fight. You intend to prove during this fight that his anxiety is for naught, Quackity didn’t even bother with a spiel about how Techno deserves this and he’s going to get justice instead opting to fight instantly. His butcher army stood by his side and seemed to assume Technoblade would be alone, Phil and yourself rid them of that assumption as quick as it had come. You were quick to notice they were down a man, Ranboo was missing. Technoblade was right, they were underprepared.

Fundy’s blade clashed with your own, drawing your eyes off of Techno and onto him. “He has to face justice; can’t you see that!?” There was no skill or nuance to his attacks only power behind them making them hard to block but easy to predict. However, you were breaking a sweat as he finally managed to nick your shoulder, with a particularly quick thrust of his sword your armour fracturing upon impact. You muffle your cry of pain with a grunt, nailing the fox hybrid with a deep slash across his chest. Fundy fell backward with a cry, shaking as you stab downwards into his chest and finish the job, his body disappearing and his items popping out of seemingly thin air.

You look over to where you last saw Phil, Tubbo now squirming futilely beneath his sandal. Your head whips around as Quackity screeches, bloody body barely making it to the ground before disappearing. It seems you’d at least get a good haul of loot from these idiots. Techno’s eyes are frantic searching for you for a moment, you watch as his body visibly relaxes when he spots you. “Are you alright?” His hands are all over you, feeling for any injuries. You intake sharply when he gets to your shoulder and he growls, “That bastard.” You place your hand over his, “It’s merely a scratch Tech. I’m fine. Are you okay?” You are acutely aware of the growing patch of crimson on his torso, white shirt stained dark. “Nothing I can’t patch up.” He grumbles, hands tentatively pressing on and around the area.

Techno refuses to let you patch him up first, practically throwing you onto the kitchen table so he can get a closer look at your shoulder. It’s barely even a scratch. But you’re quick to realise it’s a great excuse for him to touch you so gently. Pressing on your skin as if too much pressure would cause you to shatter completely. “You dropped your arm to avoid the brunt of the force behind his blade,” Techno observes looking to you to confirm, you shrug lightly in response. “I’ve seen you do it before. Watched you do it the other day when you were sparring with Phil.”

He nods solemnly, deciding he truly can’t do anything about your shoulder. Due to it being a scratch and nothing more, as you had said several times. “Well, for someone who just watched me do it you completed the move pretty well.” His eyes can’t meet yours and you smile softly, “Eh, my reflexes are just pretty good. Not a whole lotta skill involved for me.” You are quick to change the subject, ushering him onto the table so you can look at his torso wound.

Your fingers are nimble, working through each stitch with a practiced precision that Techno watches with a keen but relaxed eye. You’re usually the one to patch him up, he can do it sure, you’re just better. And maybe he secretly likes how close you have to get to him and how gentle your hands work against his skin. “I was watching you… during the battle I mean, you made short work of Fundy.” Your hands still for a moment fumbling with the bandage, your eyes move to his and he looks away quickly. “You were? I uh, he isn’t traditionally trained or anything, so he wasn’t much of an opponent.”

You force yourself to keep your brain on track, tightening the bandage around his middle as gently as you can. One of his hands grabs your wrist, you still immediately and meet his eyes. “I… you really can’t take a compliment, can you?” His sigh is soft, and his eyes are warm, “What I’ve been trying to say is that I’m sorry for underestimating your skills and that I’m proud to fight by your side.” Even as he says such sweet things, he still can’t seem to hold your gaze. The grin on your face is enough to bring his gaze back however, “Best be getting used to fighting with me then because I don’t plan on budging anytime soon.” Your lips press firmly to his cheek a few times before he turns his head to catch your lips.

“We can start training tomorrow because I’m still exhausted.” Techno groans, shifting to get off of the table, your hand finding his with ease and leading him back over to the fire where the two of you had been hours earlier. That’s when you notice his hair, you gasp softly and take a seat in front of the fire. Techno moves to sit behind you, you quickly pat the ground in front of you. “Your braid’s come loose, let me fix it for you.”

He moves with vigor at your words, knowing your nimble hands against his scalp will send him to sleep in minutes. The warm glow of the fire highlights his bright eyes as they peek back at you every few moments, “Head forward, my prince.” You press a few soft kisses to the back of his head and his hands snake around to knead your soft thighs. You huff out a breath of air as your cheeks heat up at his ministrations

“I’m trying to focus on your hair here.” You grumble, “What?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, so in retaliation, you focus your full attention on his hair, not noticing his hands on your thighs begin to slow their movements until they stop, and you’ve finished the braid. “Techno?” The soft snoring you hear in response warms your chest and you carefully manoeuvre him to lay down on the plush fur rug in front of your fireplace.

He’s normally a light sleeper, which means he truly must’ve been exhausted by that fight. You quietly lay next to him, tangling your legs and wrapping an arm over his chest being careful near his wound. “I love you, Techno.” A kiss to the side of his face doesn’t wake him as the crackling fire and howling of the chilly wind outside lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

~Requests are always open!~

#technoblade x reader #technoblade #x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #dsmp techno #technoblade mcyt

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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

Text

Menagerie

Summary Quote: “Don’t you get it? It’s all been a lie, Spence. Since the moment we met, our entire relationship has been founded on a carefully crafted lie and since then, we have been tricked into thinking this was love...but maybe that was a lie too.”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst with happy ending, Fluff

A/N: this fic has already been completed! it’s 25 chapters and just over 40,000 words. i don’t plan on posting all the chapters on to here but i have included the first two and the ao3 link to the rest is at the bottom if you are interested!

Chapter 1

You woke up from your peaceful slumber to hear a loud crash followed closely by someone yelling “FBI”. You screamed, alerting the agents of your presence thinking you were in danger but once the agents had reached your bedroom, you were being put in handcuffs and read your rights.

“W-What is happening? Is this some sort of sick joke?” you stuttered.

“Do you think killing three men is a sick joke?” the muscular intimidating agent spat back.

You were in utter shock. You barely even left the house let alone go out on a murderous rampage.

“I-I don’t know what you think I did b-but I can assure you I-I didn’t kill anyone or do anything illegal,” you tried to stay as calm as possible but you were shaking profusely.

The other agent that was the back-up in your apprehension seemed to notice this and took some sympathy on you by lightening his grip on your cuffs as he led you out of your front door that had been kicked down.

You sat in the chilly interrogation room wishing you had something else on rather than a thrifted oversized t-shirt with stains on it that said “Best Dad Ever” and sweatpants. They removed your handcuffs, I guess you weren't considered that much of a threat in a locked room in FBI Headquarters. Although you could not see past the one-sided glass, it was obvious the agents from before and possibly others from their team were standing on the other side, observing you.

“Well she is definitely not what I was expecting,” Prentiss was the first to break the silence as the whole BAU team watched you through the glass.

“She was sleeping when we apprehended her. Her facial expressions and body language showed clear signs of distress but I can not be certain if it was because we have the wrong person or she is scared she finally got caught. In her apartment, we found nothing in the slightest bit incriminating, mostly just lots of books,” Spencer spoke, while he was trying to remain impartial, he had admired your taste in literature as he was looking for evidence.

“I’m not convinced. I think this is whole ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ thing is an act,” Morgan stated as he strolled to the door leading to the room you were being held in.

The door opened and your eyes flickered up. Much to my dismay, it was the muscular agent rather than the tall, lanky agent who seemed a lot friendlier to you, given the circumstances.

He took the seat across from you and spoke firmly, “I am ready to take your confession whenever you are.”

At this point, you were just getting frustrated. You were ripped from your bed in the middle of the night given no explanation other than you had supposedly killed three men and he had the audacity to ask for your confession to something no one would even tell you the details of. So against your better judgment, you opened your mouth which has been known to get you in trouble from time to time.

“Well, considering no one has even told me what I am formally being accused of or the details, I can’t do that. Do you even have any evidence to keep me here? Oh wait...you don’t...that’s why you need a confession because all your evidence so far has been circumstantial. Only too bad for you...I know my rights. So, you have forty-eight hours to find some real evidence against me, that doesn’t exist if I may add, before you have to let me go.”

The agent looked back at the glass with his jaw dropped.

“I watch a lot of crime TV shows,” you huffed and crossed your arms.

“Okay this may be harder than we originally planned, folks. We are going to need everyone on call for the next forty-eight hours until we find some incriminating evidence,” Hotch spoke.

The agents began to depart from the room to review old case files and dig deeper into your personal history. Spencer stayed back for a few minutes and saw tears start to roll down your face when you thought no one was still watching you. You quickly wiped them away and wringed your fingers together. Spencer didn’t know if he should or not yet but he felt bad for you.

Chapter 2

The door opened again but this time, you just kept your eyes down at the table so the person could not see your watery eyes.

You have been trying to put up a brave face but every time, a different agent comes in to question you about your routine, friends, family, and personal life, you just feel exposed.

Traces of your DNA had been found on the bodies and they had all visited your bookstore but that wasn’t enough to convict you I guess. You didn’t know the victims personally but you still felt bad for them.

A cup of coffee was placed gently into your line of sight. You wrapped your hands around the warm paper cup and mumbled your thanks.

“I didn’t know how you liked it. I can add more creamer or sugar if you like,” the voice spoke.

You glanced up tentatively and it was the tall, lanky agent. Your lips turned up ever so slightly into a small smile but it was the most you could manage at the moment. You took a sip.

“No it’s fine, thank you. It really helps. I appreciate it,” you said.

“I’m Spencer, by the way”

“Y/N, but you probably already know that by now.”

He chuckled at your joke. Silence filled the room once again.

“I didn’t do it, Spencer...and I know I can’t really prove that but I wish I could. Most of my friends live in another state and so does my family so I don’t go out too often. I don’t have a boyfriend. I own a bookstore so I spend most of my time there. I don’t really know why this is happening to me,” you started to get choked up again so you stopped talking.

Spencer involuntarily blushed when you stated you didn’t have a boyfriend.

He really needed to get it together as much as he wanted to believe you.

You could be a murderer for all he knows...but a really pretty murderer with a great taste in literature and probably even a bigger collection of books than him.

Stop it, Spencer, get your head in the game. He smiled softly once more at you cradling your drink and exited the room.

The forty-eight hours were up. They had nothing solid against you. If anything, the team had less of a case against you.

The bodies were all dumped on the opposite side of town from where you lived but it was clear they had been transported there. Garcia’s digging showed you had no car and you weren’t lying when you said most of your friends and family live out of state so the chances of you borrowing someone else's car were unlikely.

Credit card receipts showed you hardly ever went to that side of town and they had profiled the unsub would know the area well.

The victims did come into your store a few times but they also visited all the shops on that street occasionally as well. It didn’t make sense for you to kill your customers. That would just be bad for business and easily linked back to you.

The team agreed that they believed Y/N was no longer a suspect.

An officer drove you back to your apartment where luckily, your door had been fixed.

You ordered takeout and took a shower to hopefully rid yourself of the stress of the past two days. Shortly after your dinner, you fell asleep hoping your door would not be busted down again by the FBI.

A few days had past and you were opening up the store for the morning. You were in the back organizing the nonfiction section when you heard the soft bell chime of the door opening.

You walked to the front expecting to greet one of your regulars. Once you saw who was standing shyly at the front desk, you stopped in your tracks.

“Spencer?”

“Uh h-hi-hello Y/N. How are you?”

“Good...unless you are here to bring me back in for more questioning”, you said half-joking half-seriously.

“Oh! Um no, you’re all set. I am truly sorry about that. But I do have a question for you”, he was nervously wringing his hands just like you do, looking anywhere but your eyes.

“It’s okay kind of sounds like the wrong thing to say because I would preferably not be dragged out of my bed in the middle of the night and then held for forty-hours but I understand, you were simply doing your job. Anyways, ask away,” you replied.

His eyes finally made contact with yours and he opened his mouth like he was about to say something but completely lost his confidence.

“Do you...um do you...do you have a nonfiction section?” Spencer blurted out.

You didn’t understand how the nonfiction section could make someone so nervous. He looked as if he was going to say something else but thought better of it.

“Of course! I was just organizing it! Right this way!” you chirped with a smile that seemed to untense his shoulders just a little bit.

Spencer perused the section a bit before deciding on a hefty book about the different plants and flowers native to the East Coast. When he made his way up to the front desk to check out, you praised his choice.

“Aw! I love reading about plants. I have some many succulents in my apartment. It's honestly more of a jungle. Have you ever seen forget-me-nots? So lovely!”

Spencer smiled and nodded, knowing if he tried to speak it would be gibberish because he could not focus on anything when he was looking at your radiant smile.

“Did you do it?”, Morgan asked as Spencer entered the bullpen with a brown bag.

“No but now I have a book on plants and flowers. I actually am excited to read it. Did you know that some plants like orchids do not require soil to grow they get their nutrients from-”

“You chickened out”, Derek sighed.

“She is so pretty! She was just standing there in all her radiance smiling at me and I couldn’t take the rejection. We dragged her out of her bed and put her in handcuffs only to find out two days later, she is innocent. I can hardly believe she is still being nice to me despite it.”

“Well believe it or not, the first night I met a girl, she was in handcuffs in her bed with me so it’s not always a bad thing,” Morgan smirked.

“Not appropriate, Morgan,” Spencer scolded.

“What are we talking about? I don’t like to not be included in the gossip!” Garcia ran over in her pink heels with Prentiss right behind her.

“Pretty Ricky here went to visit Y/N at her bookstore but then chickened out about asking her on a date,” Morgan informed them.

“Awwwww! I like her! She’s so pretty! Plus, I have already done a background search on her and she is squeaky clean now that we have proven she isn’t a murderer,” Garcia excitedly rambled.

Prentiss was nodding her head in agreement, grinning at Spencer.

Spencer had already chugged his morning cup of coffee during this conversation just to have an excuse to go get another cup and leave this conversation.

“You can’t run away from your feelings, Boy Wonder!” Garcia shouted.

Chapters 3-25

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #cm fanfic #reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

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hurricanery · 3 years

Text

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 4

A/N: Hi, it’s been a while, but here’s part 4 of If the Sun Comes Up! (AU - interns fic). This is me ignoring s17!!! Sorry for the delay, this has been repeatedly deleted from my drafts for the last week & then i didn’t even edit or make changes SO idk what all that was for. anyway thank you for sticking with this story! Previous parts here: part 1 // part 2 // part 3

Or, you can read on ao3.

_______

And so it starts, you switch the engine on

We set controls for the heart of the sun

One of the ways we show our age

_______

She has no idea how she got here. Or more specifically, how she could be pressured into something like this. Maggie typically prided herself on standing firm; standing her own ground and refusing to be swayed by others. But none of that self-proclamation holds true right now.

Because she’s here. Driving Winston’s car. Trunk filled to capacity and two of her roommates squeezed into the backseat.

The hypocrisy of it all is almost infuriating. Because Maggie hates camping.

“I hate camping,” she voices her detest out loud.

An apologetic sigh can be heard from Winston next to her, where he sits passenger side. But ultimately, it’s Amelia’s voice that grabs her attention, the bewilderment making itself known from the backseat.

“Oh, come on,” there’s an element of disbelief to her tone, and Maggie locks eyes with her through the rear-view mirror.

“Step out of your comfort zone a little, Maggie!” She raises her eyebrows, beginning to gesture with her hands. Link shuffles in his seat, where he’s squeezed in tightly beside Amelia, in an attempt to free up a little space for her body language. Some of the camping supplies had ended up packed over half of the backseat, and Maggie can’t help but chuckle at the proximity of Amelia’s hand to Link’s face as she gestures absentmindedly. “It’s camping. It’s adventurous, it’s-”

Maggie has since focused back on the road, but the sudden pause in speech makes her feel uneasy. Amelia’s focus shifts from the packaged tent next to her, to the back of Winston’s head, and then back to Maggie.

“It’s sleeping in a tent,” she continues, a spark of gleam in her eyes as she scans the couple in the front seat. “Or, maybe it’s not sleeping. Hey, I mean, whatever the two of you-”

“Amelia,” Maggie cuts in, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as Winston’s hand comes to rest on her knee, giving it a soothing squeeze.

“Come on, babe,” Winston murmurs. “It’ll be fun. And plus, Karev would definitely be proud of us.”

Maggie grins a little, despite herself.

They’d been a bit all over the place, as a group of interns. A little bit too chaotic and never fully on the same page. As their resident, Karev was constantly voicing his impatience about the dynamics of the group. She partly thinks that yes, Alex would be proud of the bonding journey that they’d chosen to embark on, but the more realist part of her brain can’t ignore the obviousness that being roommates was probably bonding enough.

Maggie peeks in the rear-view once more, this time checking to make sure that Lexie and Jo are still following in the car behind them. She catches Amelia’s stare again and consequently feels the need to brace herself.

“Babe?” Amelia bites her lip, repeating the pet name Winston had just used. “What happened to ‘we’re just friends?’”

“We are friends.” Maggie sighs, trying her best to ignore the amusement that radiates from Winston at this specific call-out.

“And Link and I are friends,” Amelia’s quick with her rebuttal, tilting her head towards Link. “I don’t go around calling him babe.”

Link sucks in a breath, and then another one, with the addition of Amelia’s afterthought. “But maybe I’ll start.”

It’s subtle. The way Link’s face changes. He hides it just as quickly as it surfaces. But it’s there, she hasn’t imagined it, and it’s the first thing to make Maggie genuinely smile for the length of the trip so far.

“I’m kidding,” Amelia nudges Link with her shoulder. “I can come up with a better nickname than that.”

“Okay enough,” Maggie suppresses the grin she feels spreading across her cheeks. She reaches forward for the knob on the dashboard, turning the music up.

Link’s relief at the diversion tactic is almost palpable. Maggie can practically feel it from the backseat. She thinks maybe the feeling rising in her chest equates to sympathy.

She loves Amelia. She really does. Which is saying a lot, especially for her. It takes effort for her to grow comfortable with people, or to even relate on any level. She’s always felt a step ahead of most people in life. But Amelia really challenges her. It’s only been a couple of months since they’d met, and somewhere along the way, things changed. Amelia’s unpredictable nature had shifted from something Maggie initially feared, to something she appreciates. Like the human embodiment of the push she needs. The push she needs to take things less seriously, or the push she needs to open up and be spontaneous. Whatever the case, it’s never felt more necessary. Like she’s been missing out on it for too long. So, she tries to embrace it at every turn.

“Are we almost there?” Amelia pipes up again from the backseat. “I have to pee, and believe me, I’m down for a little side-of-the-road action if that’s what it comes down to-”

Maggie groans impatiently. But then she remembers about embracing it. So decidedly, her next words sound gentle. “We’re almost there, hold it together.”

_______

It ends up taking two full hours for six surgical interns to figure out how to set up a campsite. And even though the task is grueling, the level of teamwork somehow exceeds what they normally display during a typical hospital shift.

The sun starts to set as the second of the two tents finally stands on it’s own and everyone takes a moment to finally relax.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Link sits back against the tree on the outskirts of their surrounding area.

Jo huffs out a breath as she joins him, rolling her eyes. “That was two hours of my life that I’ll never get back.”

“What’s next?” Amelia steps out of the larger tent, pulling a sweatshirt over her head. “Does anyone know how to build a bonfire?”

_______

She has no idea how it got to this. How six grown adults could resort to immature party games around a campfire and feel so content about it. Maggie had been relieved when the game of ‘truth or dare’ ended as quickly as it started. She’d been hoping for something a bit more intellectual. A little less high school.

Unfortunately her hopes were never granted.

“Wait, I feel like the stakes aren’t high enough.” Amelia had tossed the observation out flimsily.

But the observation had its impact.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

And then the ideas had piled on.

“Loser has to cover my scut work in the ER all week.”

“No way.”

“Loser has to make us each a s'more.”

“Nah. Stakes not high enough.”

“Loser has to jump in the lake.”

Amelia had voiced the last one, resulting in a surprised type of silence. The type of silence that could raise stakes.

It was the ultimatum they were looking for, apparently. And to much of Maggie’s dismay, they hadn’t moved on to an intellectual game. Nothing worth raising the stakes over, at least.

Because they’d settled on a game of ‘never have I ever.’

“Okay, okay. My turn. What have I not done…?” Amelia trails off, deep in thought, and it earns some chuckles from the group. “Oh! Never have I ever had a threesome.”

Suspectful eyes dart around the bonfire, and Link’s attempt to conspicuously fold down a finger fails.

“Link!”

Jo giggles hysterically.

“You have?” There’s surprise in Amelia’s voice, and it corresponds with the way her face lights up.

“You haven’t?” Link bites back.

“Well, almost, I guess. But-”

“Okay!” Jo interjects. “No need for context! That’ll just slow us down. Link, your turn.”

“Okay,” Link grins determinedly across the bonfire, eyes landing on Amelia. “Never have I ever almost had a threesome.”

Amelia scoffs, dropping a finger.

“Wait!” Maggie fast-tracks her disapproval. “Are we singling people out now? The game will end too quickly if we-”

“Never have I ever been named after an iconic literary figure.” Amelia jumps in again, completely ignoring Maggie’s objection.

Link drops a finger, rolling his eyes. Too easy.

“Never have I ever slept with Mark Sloan.”

He sounds proud of this one. And all focus drifts to Amelia, whose eyes narrow only slightly as she drops another finger.

“You did what?” Maggie seems skeptical.

“You did what? When?” And Lexie’s voice sounds strained.

“Shit, sorry. Too far?” Link’s pride genuinely replaces itself with worry.

“I never meant for it to be a secret.” There’s something distinct about Amelia’s tone as she jumps back into the game, clearly with the intention of going after Link again. “Never have I ever-”

“No!” Maggie seems to be the only one intervening at this point. “No, stop. My turn. If we play it your way, this game will be over in two seconds.”

Amelia and Link shrug dismissively amidst the general hums of agreement.

“Never have I ever…” Maggie pauses, taking a moment to truly think on it. She racks her brain for ways to prolong the game. “Never have I ever been arrested!”

Amelia slowly drops her last finger, a grimace consuming her face, and Maggie’s mouth opens wide in shock.

“Amelia, what,” she breathes. “I was trying to keep people in the game. What-”

“We agreed on no context!” Amelia is quick to refute, forcing a grin as she repeats the request spoken earlier.

“Okay….” She draws out her response, and the next part of her sentence sounds quiet, or laced with secondhand defeat. “But you lost the game already.”

“That’s fine,” Amelia is just as quick to stand from her chair, shrugging casually at what that entails.

“Amelia-”

“To the lake? Or am I doing this without witnesses?”

Maggie’s brows furrow at the bitterness that exists in that question, but then Amelia turns, walking away from them, and Maggie is the first to go after her.

_______

"Amelia, you’re the one who made the rule. You can’t back out now.”

They’re all huddled together at the sandy area near the dock that edges out into the dark lake, and Maggie can’t hold back her impatience. She’s a rule-follower, after all. She's also cold. And she just wants to be by the bonfire again.

“I know, I know. I’m….” Amelia trails off, exhaling harshly. “Just give me a minute.”

There’s momentary quiet. The kind of quiet that nearly gives room for everyone to re-think what’s about to happen. But, if anyone's thoughts were the loudest, they were Amelia’s.

“The sun was still out when I made up this rule!”

That’s true. Maggie can give her that. It’s late now, purely dark outside except for the glow of the moonlight reflecting off of the lake.

“We don’t know what’s in there…” Amelia adds, eyes focused on the body of water before them. “We don’t know if it’s safe to swim here.”

“It’s a state park,” Winston chuckles.

“And there’s a sign right there,” Lexie adds matter-of-factly, nodding towards the edge of the sand. “No lifeguard on duty. Swim at your own risk.”

“Amelia, it's a swimming beach.”

There’s an element to Amelia’s expression that Maggie sees herself in. It provokes that feeling. The heart-lurching feeling that comes with the awareness that you can’t bring yourself to do the thing you intend to do. The restlessness that rises with the opposition of your mind moving miles a minute but your feet remaining frozen where you stand. It takes place in the nervous system. And it’s like the physical manifestation of not being able to rip the bandaid off, or not being able to take the plunge, to be more literal in this scenario.

Suddenly, Maggie’s hit with the fleeting recognition that everyone’s the same deep down. Some were just better at hiding it than others.

The revelation almost makes her feel sympathy. Almost.

Because Amelia’s version of hiding it was turning out to be displaced over-confidence.

“I knew you were all talk and no-”

“I’ll jump in with you,” Link interrupts, nudging Amelia, who shakes from her daze as she turns away from the lake, locking eyes with Link.

“Shit, I’m down, too,” Jo shrugs. “I’m right behind you guys.”

A look of pure skepticism crosses Amelia’s face, and Link just starts to grin, hugely.

“No,” Maggie breathes. “No, no, no.”

Because she knows what this is about to turn into. And then it’s all happening, fast.

Link is stripping down to his boxers, tossing his clothes into a pile on the grass just left of the dock. And then he’s running. His feet clamber against the wood paneling as he takes off over the structure that extends along the shore and into the body of water.

There’s a huge splash. And then he resurfaces, gasping.

“It’s not that deep, come on!” He yells. “And it’s warm, too. Like a hot tub!”

The next thing Maggie registers is that Jo is following suit, peeling off her sweatshirt and tossing it towards Link’s pile of clothes.

She feels Winston’s hand grip her shoulders, gently pushing her towards the dock as he murmurs “Come on, babe.”

There’s another splash somewhere, and then Jo resurfaces, giggling hysterically. "Link!” She gasps dramatically, “You liar, this is fucking freezing!”

And all Maggie can think is this is so unfair.

_______

It’s so unfair.

The fact that five people have somehow endured jumping into this lake and yet, Amelia remains unscathed. Secure, on dry land, a smirk on her face that can only signify that she thinks she’s won.

“Amelia!” Maggie yells once again. “You have thirty seconds to get into this water.”

“Maggie-”

“No way,” Maggie cuts her off before the smug tone can set her off even further. She lets go of Winston’s shoulder, which she’s been holding onto for dear life since she jumped in, and she swims closer to the dock. Closer to Amelia. “I won’t let you play us like this.”

Amelia grins further, dipping just her toes in the water. “Maggie, I’m not trying to play anyone, I-”

“Get in the water, Amelia!” Maggie shouts, but her impatience only leads to more smugness on Amelia’s behalf.

She almost gives up. Accepts defeat. But then Link is joining her, inching towards Amelia on the dock, whose expression falters only slightly as they approach.

“Should we splash her?” Maggie tilts her head towards Link, inquisitive edge to her voice. “We could splash her.”

The threat seems to be the push Amelia needs. She shakes her head incessantly as they make their advance, and she takes a deep breath before she goes to remove her jeans, adding them to the pile of clothes that everyone else has stripped off.

Jo whistles from somewhere further out into the lake and Amelia’s smirk returns, a complete result of the knowledge that she has an audience. Her classic Harvard sweatshirt gets added to the pile and then she’s on an even playing field with everyone else, dressed down to whatever underwear she’d thrown on this morning.

They continue their approach, and Amelia looks down just as a burst of wind forcibly shakes the branches of a tree above, thus causing her to wrap her arms around herself.

“You’ll warm up faster if you get in, Shepherd.” Link says in a low tone.

“I know,” Amelia’s tone is just as low. “But I’m not jumping.”

“What happened to adventurous?!” Maggie mocks her. Not harshly, but more so aiming to re-inspire the fearlessness that previously had been.

“I’m not jumping in,” Amelia repeats as she sits at the edge of the dock, letting the water hit her up to about mid-shin. “I’m just gonna kind of slide in….” She trails off as Link pushes forward, now in shallow enough water to stand. And when Amelia goes to wrap her arms around herself again, Maggie swears it’s out of modesty this time.

“It’s harder that way,” Link smiles up at her. “But okay.”

“Okay,” she repeats his sentiment, but doesn’t make any move to get into the water.

“Okay,” Maggie interjects, directing her next words at Link. “As apparently the only rule-follower here, I give you full permission to do whatever it takes to get her into this water already.”

Her instructions result in a mischievous twitch of Link’s lips, and conversely, a look of complete betrayal from Amelia.

“Your rules.” Maggie quietly defends herself.

Link turns back to Amelia, who meets his gaze with pure panic in her eyes. But he steps closer anyway, placing his hands around her shins and pulling her a couple inches closer to where he stands in the water.

She gasps. Her hands fly out, landing on his shoulders. “Wait wait wait!” She cries, the alarm in her voice matching the frantic action of her nails digging into his skin.

Link stops his movements, placing his hands on her knees as he tries to read her facial expression.

Her eyes dart between his. “You swear it’s not too cold?”

“It’s not cold, Amelia,” he murmurs, moving his hands underneath her bare thighs and pulling her forward an inch more.

Maggie looks between the two, suddenly feeling out of place, or like she’s witnessing a private moment. But, she can’t tear her eyes away. She feels transfixed by the eye contact happening between the pair, and she lets out a stunned chuckle.

“It’s not cold,” Link repeats, and now Maggie scoffs. Because this moment is becoming almost unbelievable with tension. But then Link’s expression changes. Just as quickly as flipping a switch. The facet of mischief returns to his eyes and then he’s opening his mouth again.

“And I’m so sorry for this!” He shouts as he finally pulls Amelia into the water, throwing his head back with laughter as she resurfaces before him.

Her arms are still wrapped around his shoulders in a viselike grip. “Alright, screw you for that!” She laughs as she comes to her senses, consequently letting go and distancing herself from Link. “But thank you, I guess."

“My pleasure.”

Maggie watches, eyes burning with curiosity, and she’s not able to hide the smile that creeps onto her lips as the pair move as far away from each other as possible. The interaction is way too amusing, and part of her feels like, if she were the menacing type, this would be the perfect opportunity to pay back some of Amelia’s relentless teasing with some of her own.

“Can we get out now?” Lexie swims up, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m kinda over this.”

“I just got in. Was that for no reason?!”

“And whose fault is that?” Maggie snickers. But it doesn’t sound harsh at all, as she offers Amelia a comforting smile.

When they eventually leave the shoreline, Maggie feels a sense of fondness course through her. Or maybe protectiveness. Whatever the feeling, it was definitely the stark opposite of her previous annoyance with the way the evening was turning out.

She carefully observes as Amelia slows behind the group, and she slows with her, matching her pace.

Amelia offers her a small smile, before a shiver takes over her body, interrupting her guise. It makes sense, Maggie thinks. Because soaking wet hair and the sun going down in the middle of nowhere might just bring on that sort of involuntary action.

But she can’t ignore the shift in energy. The sudden vanishing of the confidence and even the playful competitiveness.

“You okay?” She eventually asks.

“Tired.” Amelia only offers a shrug, her thumbnail nearly reaching the corner of her mouth in a restless action. But it’s like she catches herself, as Maggie’s stare burns into her, and instead she drops her hands to her sides.

“Me too,” Maggie’s voice is soft, and an impulse rises in her that screams comfort. Suddenly, her arm is wrapping around Amelia’s shoulder tightly, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get some sleep.”

_______

It’s a known fact that Maggie hates camping. She can think of several reasons for that. One of the side effects she’d fail to consider, though, was the consequent lack of rest that would come with it.

It couldn’t be any later than 5am, she concludes, as she unzips her and Winston’s tent and steps out into the dark campground.

To much of her surprise, she’s not alone. She’s not the only one experiencing the unwanted side effects of sleeping in a tent.

“Hey,” Amelia’s voice sounds gravelly, as she perks up from the chair she’s seated at around the empty bonfire. “Good morning.”

“How can it be morning?” Maggie groans. “Does it really count as morning when you didn’t get any sleep at all?”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

Maggie frowns. “You didn’t sleep?”

“Link snores. And Lexie talks in her sleep….” Amelia weakly attempts a smile, and it just makes Maggie’s frown deepen.

“Everything alright?” She asks.

“Yeah, just wish I’d slept better.”

Maggie squints, because there’s detail there that she can’t quite decipher. She scans Amelia’s face another moment, before an idea strikes.

“Do you want to go on a hike with me? Watch the sunrise?”

“You don’t really seem like the hiking type.”

“You’re right. I guess ‘hike’ is a strong word. But anyway, how about it?”

Amelia stares blankly at her for a long moment, before eventually she nods, standing up.

“Alright,” Maggie grins. “Let me tell Winston where we’re going first.”

_______

They take a marked path. Signs at every turn highlight for them which way to go. It’s a few minutes into the hike before either of them speaks. It’s Amelia who opens up the conversation.

“Ready to be home?”

Maggie laughs. “Absolutely. I’ve been ready since the moment we got here.”

“Well, hopefully they have the cars all packed by the time we get back.”

Maggie nods, then reaches for the water bottle she’d brought with her, taking a few sips.

“Do I tease you and Winston too much?”

The question completely catches Maggie off guard, and she harshly swallows her sip of water.

“Huh?”

“I can be….a little overbearing sometimes. But,” Amelia offers a quick side-glance. “At least I’m self aware about that.”

“Not at all. I mean, honestly, Winston gets a kick out of it so-”

“Yeah, but do you?”

Maggie stops walking, her face muddled with confusion. It takes Amelia a moment to realize she’s stopped, and she turns around, meeting Maggie’s stare expectantly.

“Amelia….If it bothered me I would tell you.”

Amelia nods at this information, and then turns away, continuing on the path.

“Was I too harsh last night? About the rules of the game?” Maggie quickens her pace, catching up.

“No,” Amelia laughs under her breath. “We needed the discipline, I think.”

“Yeah but you didn’t need to jump into that lake. I can be a little of overbearing sometimes, too, so-”

“Nah. We balance each other out.”

Maggie squints, a little surprised by that observation. She’s taken aback by the accuracy of it, and it’s evident in her inflection.

“We kind of do, don’t we?”

Amelia beams at her, before her gaze returns to the path below. “I’m glad we came to that realization.”

Comfortable silence falls between them, and there’s a few minutes dedicated purely to the hike, before Amelia clears her throat to speak again.

“Although, I am trying to jump less. So maybe I need you to balance me out just a little more.”

“You lost me,” Maggie quirks an eyebrow at her. “Are we talking about the lake still?”

“Metaphorically. Maybe.”

Maggie’s expression just grows more perplexed, urging Amelia to continue.

“I’ve been….historically known to jump into things. Or people. Or habits, or…” She cuts herself off with a harsh breath, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’d like to do that less. The whole….jumping blindly and hoping I’ll land, thing. So. Maybe I need you to balance me out a little more.”

Maggie nods, slowly grasping the explanation. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

“Well, no,” Maggie frowns. “I’ve never been one to….do anything, really, without weighing the pros and cons first. But, I do get what you’re saying, though. Even if I can’t personally relate.”

Amelia keeps her eyes glued to the path ahead, and the lack of response forces Maggie to attempt filling the silence with her own self-reflection.

“I’ve been thinking of taking a note from you, in that way, actually. Sometimes I really need to think less.”

This makes Amelia smile. “Maybe we can try to meet in the middle somewhere.”

“Yeah, that might be good for us.”

As the conversation trails off again, Maggie can’t help but question what specifically Amelia is referencing. She doesn’t want to push, especially given her recent self-proclamation as overbearing. But part of her thinks that one last inquiry won’t hurt.

“You and Link seem to have fun.”

Amelia’s eyes snap up to Maggie’s face before the sentence is even finished.

“What makes you say that?”

There’s not an ounce of emotion in Amelia’s expression. It’s probably the best poker face Maggie has ever seen. And so she’s careful with her next words, her voice slow and questioning.

“I just mean....you know….the banter?”

“Banter?”

“Yes the banter, Amelia,” she lets out a stunned chuckle. “I don’t know how else to put it! It’s like you’re constantly play-fighting. It’s like….it’s like this weird, alluring competitiveness that’s almost uncomfortable to watch. It’s being at each other’s throats over a stupid game of ‘never have I ever.’ It’s the craziest form of flirting I’ve ever witnessed, and it’s-”

“Link and I are friends.”

“Winston and I are friends.” She bites down on her grin, trying to contain the pride that radiates as she uses Amelia’s own pointed claims against her.

“Okay, don’t pull that on me.”

“I think it’s perfectly fair-”

“Maggie.”

“Amelia.”

Two pairs of eyes tighten upon scrutinized contact.

“Amelia,” she softens her expression a bit. “All I’m saying is….despite it being weird to watch.” She releases an awkward exhale. “I think it works. I think you’ve kinda met your match.”

“There’s no match to be made, Maggie! I’m-”

They’re both a little caught off guard by the frustration and volume of Amelia’s tone. And Amelia takes a moment to breathe before she continues, an octave lower this time.

“I’m jumping less, remember?”

Maggie wants to frown. She wants to disagree. She almost wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

But they’re edging towards the outskirts of the campsite. She can hear voices, and the distinct sound of car trunks slamming shut. Which signifies that they’re nearing the end of the hike, so she bites her tongue instead, because Amelia looks too exhausted to argue it more.

They clear the trees, entering the campground, and Winston watches them approach.

“Hey! Cars are packed, but it’ll be a tight squeeze again,” he smiles sympathetically. He walks forward to rest his hands on Maggie’s shoulders in familiar reassurance. “And you get to sleep in the car, because this time I’m driving.”

_______

Maggie doesn’t think she’s imagining this part.

Her lack of sleep the night prior results in Winston’s refusal to let her drive. Which only bothers her a little, because the exhaustion outweighs her requisite for control.

Her eyes feel heavy as she rests her head against the window. She tries to focus on the road ahead as Winston drives; doesn't want to give up being a second pair of eyes as she sits passenger side. But her fatigue gets the best of her. Although it’s difficult to separate her overtired brain from certainty, she doesn’t think she’s imagining this part.

She hears it first. Link’s chuckle.

It’s enough to shake her from her reverie. She lifts her head and tries to be conspicuous as she turns, glancing into the backseat.

Amelia’s sat in the middle seat again, squeezed tightly between the camping supplies and then Link on the other side of her. Her eyes are fighting to stay open, and she's doing that weird head bobbing thing. That subconscious move that happens quite literally before falling asleep.

“Hey. Here.”

The sound of Link’s voice causes Amelia’s eyes to widen, quickly becoming aware of herself. She continues to blink, fighting off a bout of exhaustion that Maggie completely sympathizes with.

When Amelia locks eyes with him, Link simply pats his shoulder, indicating a potential landing spot for her head.

She frowns tiredly at him.

“Just do it,” he shrugs, patting his shoulder again. “I’m a better option than that boxed tent.” He nods past her. “As far as pillows go, at least.”

Amelia seems to fight it for a second. She really does. Her eyebrows pull together as she continues to stare blankly at Link.

Maggie diverts her attention because once again, she feels like she’s intruding on some private moment. But she remains listening. She can’t help it. There’s some shuffling around and then-

“Hm.” She hears Amelia hum. “You do make a decent pillow.” It’s followed by a murmured “Thank you.”

“Sure. What are friends for?”

Link’s response is barely a whisper, but Maggie can hear it still, even over the general hum of the highway below. She doesn’t think she’s imagining this part.

What are friends for?

It’s enough to make her turn in her seat again, an incredulous stare plastered on her face as she raises her eyebrows in Link’s direction.

He seems not to notice her interest, or rather her disbelief. Because his focus is consumed by the dark head of hair resting against his shoulder.

Amelia’s eyes are shut tight, her expression revealed when she adjusts herself slightly against him. And then Link smiles to himself, still unaware of the scrutiny descending from the front seat.

Maggie allows the doubt to flood her mind as she turns to rest against her own window again, and she fights off a smile as she lets her eyes finally close.

Friends. Right.

#amelink #amelink fanfic #amelinkfic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #everyone look away bc this one is way too self-indulgent #im sorry it took me so long to post this ive been. hm whats the best way to put this #freaking out all the time all day every day #but i love writing this story so #also this is the second time i’ve ever written a game of never have i ever in a fic lmaooo #idk what THATS ABOUT but apparently i love to recycle that idea #don't let me take a long time to update ok harass me if u want this story to continue bc i need the harassment #also im Maggie in this fic just relentlessly shipping amelia and link she’s my outlet although she was very hard to write pov wise #amelia x link #amelinkfanfiction #my writing #if the sun comes up #grey's anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fic #grey's anatomy #maggie pierce #maggie x amelia #winston ndugu #magston #jo wilson #lexie grey #sorry for the excessive tags i just haven’t posted in so long and this felt like a better scenario than a long ass a/n

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wayward-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Something Unexpected

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Word Count: 7,580 (This really got away from me! Lol)

Warnings: Some angst: fighting, Dean gets slapped. A WHOLE LOT OF SMUT. Rough Sex. Vaginal Fingering, Oral sex (Male and Female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, people!), Dirty Talk, Biting, Some hair pulling, Swearing (there’s sex, so naturally there’s swearing lol). Fluffy ending. 18+ ONLY!

Summary: Jody needs back up on the hunt she’s on, and Sam and Dean aren’t going to be enough. She calls in Y/N Y/L/N, without knowing that Dean and Y/N can’t stand each other. Things come to a head during the hunt, words are said, and feelings are hurt, but something unexpected occurs. Something new with the promise of more, if they only give in to how they actually feel for each other. Based on this request: “Enemies to lovers. Jody calls in another hunter for back up. Her and Dean butt heads, can end however you want :)”

A/N: This was a request from @flamencodiva! I hope you guys enjoy it and please let me know what you think! :)

Dean pressed harder on the accelerator, the Impala flying down the highway. They were a few minutes away from the main part of town and would soon be meeting up with Jody. Sam was talking to her on the phone, before he hung up.

“Jody there already?” he asked, looking between Sam’s phone and the road.

“Yeah, she’s at the diner on Main Street. Apparently, she’s calling someone else in, too” Sam replied, putting his phone back in his pocket.

Dean frowned. “She say who?”

“No. Does it really matter?” Sam shrugged.

“Guess not” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

Soon, they pulled up and parked outside the diner. Dean led the way across the sidewalk into the diner. He glanced around the room, before they landed on Jody in a booth near the window. She smiled wide when she saw them, getting up.

“Jody” Dean smiled, as he hugged her tight.

“Good to see you boys” she said as she hugged Sam next.

“You didn’t bring the girls?” Sam asked.

“No, they’re at home working on their training with Donna. I would’ve called them in, but Patience isn’t quite there yet. Hence why I called you boys” Jody explained as she slid back into the booth.

Sam was next to the window opposite her, as Dean sat next to him.

“So, vamps, huh?” Dean said, as he glanced over the menu.

Jody nodded. “Whole lot of ‘em, too. Had to call for another hunter.”

“What, we’re not enough?” Dean grinned, jokingly.

Jody rolled her eyes playfully. “She’s good, saved our necks on a Vetala case two months ago.”

“Who is it?” Sam asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N” Jody replied, simply.

Dean dropped his menu and looked up at Jody. She didn’t just say Y/N Y/L/N did she? Jody noticed him staring at her and raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?” she asked.

“You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me” Dean muttered, shutting his eyes.

Jody looked at Sam and shrugged. Sam shook his head. “It’s no big deal, Jody. Dean and Y/N just have a bad history with each other. She’s a great hunter-” Sam explained but Dean cut him off.

“Yeah, if a great hunter steals your kill right from under your nose” he huffed.

Sam glared at him. “Man, would you cut it out? She saved your ass.”

Dean rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Well, you better act civil because she’s here” Jody said, and jerked her head towards the door.

Dean turned back and saw Y/N walk in. She wore a purple shirt and dark blue skinny jeans, a dark brown leather jacket and her brown, scuffed up hunting boots. She may have annoyed him but damn, she was beautiful. She noticed Jody first and smiled, walking over. As she got closer, her smiled dropped.

Dean freaking Winchester was sitting at the booth, along with Sam. Jody mentioned other hunters coming in for this but failed to mention who they were. Just her luck.

She hugged Jody before she smiled at Sam. Looking at Dean, she watched as his green eyes stared at her intently, somehow angry and hot at the same time.

“Hey, Dean. How’s that leg of yours? You know, I never heard you say “thanks” for getting that wolf off you” she said, rubbing it in.

Dean huffed a bitter laugh. “I could’ve handled it, sweetheart.”

“Geez, I’m regretting this already” Jody mumbled. She clapped her hands once to get their attention. “Guys, can we focus.”

“Sure thing, Jody” Y/N said and sat down next to her, across from Dean.

“Alright, so I tracked the Alpha from Sioux Falls, to here. I followed him to a barn, 20 minutes outside of town. There’s ten in there; more than I can handle. They only hunt when things are busy in town, but tonight’s a curfew because of the killings. So, they’re not going to be heading out to feed. That’s when we get ‘em” Jody explained.

“Sounds like a plan” Y/N smiled.

Later that night, the hunters drove out to where the vampire nest was. They had checked into their motel earlier, except for Jody who said she would drive home that night back to Sioux Falls. As they were prepping, Y/N had felt Dean’s eyes on her the whole time. Every now and then, she’d look over and he’d look away. He was absolutely infuriating, and she just wanted to get this over and done with.

They parked their cars on the main road. There was a forested area that came before the barn, which would shield their cars from being seen. Y/N took out her machete, already sharpened. They walked through the dark forest, Jody and her at the front, with Sam and Dean behind them. They could hear rock music blaring from the barn. Stopping outside, Jody turned to them.

“Alright, Dean you’re with me. We’ll go through the back. Sam and Y/N will go through the front. We good?” she looked between them, especially Y/N and Dean.

“Yeah” Dean nodded, wanting to get this over with.

Jody and Dean went left and walked towards the back of the barn. Y/N followed behind Sam as they walked to the front. Sam looked back at her, a smile playing at his face.

“What?” she asked, quietly as they walked towards the entrance.

“Nothing” he shrugged. “Just wondering why you’re always trying to get under Dean’s skin when you could just admit you like him.”

Y/N scoffed. “You know, you may be a nerd about you’ve never been more wrong about this.”

“Yeah, sure” Sam chuckled to himself.

Y/N ignored as they reached the entrance. She peaked through the crack in the door and saw some of the vampires drinking and dancing to the music.

“Ready?” she asked, looking at him.

Sam nodded, raising his machete.

Jody and Dean rushed towards the back of the barn. Dean clenched his jaw, steeling himself. Jody looked over at him and smiled, slightly. Dean noticed out of the corner of his eye, and looked at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing” she shrugged. “It’s just… if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have feelings for Y/N, but you’d rather repel her with your anger than tell her how you feel.”

“Feeling okay there, Jody?” Dean asked, sarcastically.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’… you’re both dancing around these feelings, trying to piss each other off and being angry for no reason. There’s nothing wrong with how you feel, Dean” she said, as she took out her machete.

Dean shook his head and said nothing. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah” Jody said, as she stood near the back door.

Dean and Jody burst through the back door as Sam and Y/N did from the front. The vampires saw them and split up, half of them heading each way. Y/N raised her machete and beheaded the first male, but the second one, a woman, grabbed her and threw her. She groaned as she landed but scrambled up quickly as it came for her. Sam took the heads off two male vamps and saw that Y/N was down. Before he could get there, she got up and swung her machete, killing the one that threw her into the wall.

Jody killed one and then another, both men. Dean beheaded one female but was now trapped against a pole, as a male tried to choke him out. Sam ran towards the other two and beheaded one, but the other male grabbed him. Jody noticed and ran over, swinging hard and taking it’s head off. Y/N ran towards the other one, and swung, its head fell to the floor as its body let go of Dean and fell.

She breathed heavily as she looked around the barn, before she looked at him. “You okay?”

She put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, roughly.

“Like you care” he muttered.

“Everyone okay?” Jody asked.

They all nodded.

They walked back to the cars and cleaned up. Jody smiled at Y/N, as they hugged first.

“You sure you can’t stay and have a drink?” she asked.

“No, I should really get back” Jody replied. “Plus, it leaves your night for some other kind of fun.”

Y/N shook her head. “Not you too.”

“Just give it a chance. What’s the worst that could happen?” Jody asked.

“We could kill each other” Y/N said, not so sarcastically.

“Just try” Jody said, as she smiled knowingly.

“You don’t what you’re talking about” Y/N told her, firmly.

“Yeah, sure” Jody laughed.

She walked over to the boys and hugged them.

Y/N watched as they interacted, they were close. She never realised it. She heard Dean tell her to give the girls their best. He could be sweet with he wanted to be. They were a family. And what he had with Sam… that was something special.

Jody drove off, leaving Y/N with the boys. She walked over to them and smiled, tentatively. Sam smiled at her as he packed up the machetes in the trunk.

“You okay? That vamp really threw you” Sam asked, concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve had worse” she said, shrugging. It was true, she had much worse than being thrown.

Dean sipped his beer as he leaned against the car, ignoring her. He was really starting to get on her nerves.

“Hey, you know I saved your ass. Again. Maybe you could look at me and say something good for a change” she said, her eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t ask you to” he huffed, sipping his beer.

“Yeah, and now I’m regretting it” she scoffed.

“Guys” Sam sighed.

Dean turned to her, jaw clenched, and shoulders tensed. “Fuck, Y/N. What are you even doing here? Maybe go find your own hunt for a change instead of weaselling your way into others.”

Y/N saw red. That was total bullshit. “Not that I owe you an explanation, Dean, but I do find my own hunts. When other people need me, then I help them. I don’t let them down.”

“We never asked you for help with that wolf” Dean recalled.

Y/N rolled her eyes and growled. “Are you seriously bringing that up again? I was in town, passing through! I saw you guys and helped. End of story. If I hadn’t, that wolf would’ve kept your leg as a souvenir!” she yelled.

“Guys, just stop” Sam warned. “Enough.”

Y/N didn’t say anything as she shook her head. She glared at Dean as she walked past him. “Fuck you, Winchester.”

She walked to her car and got in, revving the engine as she drove off, speeding down the highway. Dean looked at Sam for a brief second but when he received a glare from him too, he looked the other way.

“When we get back to the motel, you better stop being an ass and apologise to her” Sam said, as he sat in the car, waiting for Dean to finish his beer.

A sinking feeling made its way into Dean’s stomach. He had really stepped in it this time.

--X--

Y/N stared at herself in the mirror. Despite washing her face to try to cool down, she was still angry. She couldn’t stop thinking about the things they said to each other. Sometimes she just wanted punch him in his perfect face. But then that would ruin said perfect face, Y/N she thought to herself as she walked out of the bathroom. She shook her head, damn him for being so goddamn hot.

Why? Why did she secretly have to be attracted to the older Winchester? Most of the time, it was easy to be angry at him because of his compulsive need to take over everything and run the show. She would channel that anger into hating him, but she had to admit it was just a front, because sometimes Dean was actually sweet. She saw that tonight, with Jody.

Y/N picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured some into a glass. As she stared down at the amber liquid, she thought about how those qualities make Dean who he is. He wouldn’t be Dean without them, and therefore, she wouldn’t be drawn to him. She brought the glass to her lips and gulped down the whiskey. A sharp knock at the door shook her from her musings, as she nearly dropped the glass in her hand. She put the glass down and walked slowly to the door, once again in hunter mode. She didn’t need any surprises tonight. Slightly pushing herself up on her tip-toes, she looked through the peephole.

Dean was waiting on the other side of the door, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Fuck” she quietly cursed, as she moved away from the door. Why was he here?

“Y/N” his voice came booming from the other side of the door. “Open up, we gotta talk.”

Dean waited as patiently as he could on the other side. After his drink and the guilt of what he said weighing on him, he knew he had to come and talk to her. While she annoyed him sometimes, she was a good person and didn’t deserve to live with what he said. He knew he had pissed her off, and he didn’t want to let the night go by without them talking.

Y/N sighed heavily. Throwing her shoulders back, she took a hold of the doorknob. When she opened it, Dean was struck by her beauty once again.

“What do you want?” she asked, pointedly. She needed this to be over and done with.

Dean gestured towards the room. “Can I come in?”

She rolled her eyes and stood aside. Dean walked in and she closed the door behind him.

“So, um…” he trailed off, not knowing how to start.

“Can you say what you need to say and then leave?” She said, harshly. She was taken aback by her tone, as was Dean.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed as he blinked a couple of times. “I just came here to apologise for what I said, but if you’re gonna be a bitch about it-”

Y/N scoffed and laughed bitterly. “I think I’ve earned the right to be a bitch, Dean.”

“Wow” Dean shook his head as he looked at her. “Clearly this was a waste of time.”

Dean turned around and headed for the door. She wasn’t going to let him just leave without understanding why he said what he said.

“You had no right to say that to me” she said, taking a step closer to him.

Dean turned around, now it was his turn to scoff. “I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’d know that if you’d open your mind for one fucking second.”

Y/N glared at him but gave him nothing. She was quiet and Dean took his chance to open his mouth again.

“Listen, I-” Dean cleared his throat and took a step closer to her. “What I said… there’s no excuse for it. I crossed a line and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have gotten pissed at you for stepping in and killing the damn vamp.”

Y/N crossed arms as her jaw clenched. She was trying to keep herself from exploding. “And saving your ass in the process. I’m fucking good at what I do, Dean. I don’t need you questioning me or insulting me!”

“I know” Dean said, trying to keep his cool. “And I’m sorry.”

“Are you really sorry? Maybe this is just another way for you to undermine me. Try to make me believe you so that you can just say whatever the fuck you want to me again!” Y/N stepped closer to him as she stared into his eyes.

“You’re insane” Dean whispered. He closed his eyes. This wasn’t going to end well, and he had no idea how to try and diffuse the situation. He had to think of something quick, though.

“Did you really think I’d be here, trying to make things right, if that’s what I wanted to do?” he asked, as he took a step closer to her. They were close to each other now, so close that he could see her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

She was quiet again. Dean felt like that was almost scarier than her yelling at him.

“Fuck, Y/N” he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I hated the fact that I said that, and you were mad at me.”

“You’ve never cared about making me mad before, Dean. Why is it different this time?” Y/N asked, but she didn’t really know if she wanted an answer.

Dean shook his head, not knowing how to answer. He knew that if he said something now, he would say too much, and then everything would change.

It was different this time because he had genuinely hurt her feelings and didn’t like that he did that. He had doubted her as a hunter, and that was something you just never do. It made him feel the dirt on the bottom of her shoe and needed to fix that.

“I just-” Dean dropped his head and scratched behind his neck, nervously. “It just is.”

Y/N tried to process what he was saying. He was keeping from her. He looked nervous, like there was something else he wanted to say but he couldn’t.

“You’re lying” Y/N said, firmly. “And I’m done now. So please leave.”

Dean shook his head. If there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a liar. “I’m not lying.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Why couldn’t he just let it go?

“Just go, Dean” she said, staring at him. Her expression was blank. She had nothing left to say.

“No.” Dean didn’t move an inch.

Y/N lifted her hands and pressed them against his torso. Even through his shirt, she could feel the hard wall of muscle underneath. She shoved him back slightly, but he didn’t move far. “Leave. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart” Dean said, staring into her eyes. His eyes were fiery, holding something she couldn’t quite figure out.

She pushed at him harder. “Damn it, Dean. Just go!” She pushed him again. And again. And again. He kept moving back, but he wasn’t leaving.

“Get out!” she yelled as she started to hit her fists against his chest.

Dean tried to calm her down. “Y/N, hey, look at me.”

Dean tried to grab Y/N’s hands, but she kept hitting him, yelling at him to go, to leave her alone. She raised her fist, ready to strike him but in his quick thinking, he grabbed her wrist. She tried to get out of his hold but couldn’t. She raised her other fist, but he grabbed that too, refusing to let go.

“Let go of me” she said, struggling against of his hold.

“Not until you calm down, sweetheart” he said, his gravelly and deep.

She stared up at him as she continued to try and get away from his hold. His eyes were dark, and something about the way he was looking at her lit a fire within her.

“Let me go, Dean” she gasped, trying to get her fists out of his hands.

In that moment, if she had been honest with herself, she really wasn’t trying to get away from him but away from what she was beginning to feel. His gaze never left her, and it caused a fluttering deep in her core, something that she hadn’t expected to feel around Dean Winchester. Yes, she was attracted to him and had been since the first time they met, but she never thought she would feel anything more than annoyance towards him.

Dean looked down at Y/N, the urge to take her in his arms overwhelmed him. He never thought he would feel this way about her. The girl who had pissed him off on several occasions, as recent as a few hours ago. However, in that moment, with her Y/H/C hair floating down her back and a few strands in her face, her perfect lips inciting him, her incredible body so close he could smell her perfume… she was beautiful.

Without thinking, he let the instinct of that moment take over. He leaned down quickly, pressing his lips to hers. Y/N was shocked at first. His lips were soft and perfect. She had to pull away. This couldn’t happen. In the haste of the kiss, Dean had dropped her hands. With them now free, she pushed him away. Not knowing what possessed her to do it, her hand rose and slapped him across the face. Dean’s head turned sharply to the side with the impact. She breathed heavily, the energy from hitting and pushing him, from trying to get away from him, had taken it out of her. Dean looked down at her, his eyes darkened even more, and Y/N felt a heat begin to rise in her core.

Without a second thought, she pushed herself up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Dean’s hands landed softly on her hips, hesitant at first. When she lifted her hands and placed them on his jaw, pulling him closer, he brought her body closer to his. He deepened the kiss, softly biting her bottom lip. She gasped into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself even closer to him. His hands roamed up her back, tangling in the ends of her Y/C/H hair. Their lips still joined, their kisses became harder and rougher, both of them fighting for dominance. She pressed herself harder into him, which caused him to walk backwards a few steps. His back hit the wall as he pulled her even tighter, his arms hard around her waist.

Y/N’s hands roamed his chest and disappeared under his jacket and flannel shirt. She pushed them off his shoulders and helped him take them off his arms, all while their lips never left each other. Her fingers played with the edge of his black t-shirt, pushing it up, she placed her hands against the warm, soft but strong muscle of his stomach. She reluctantly pulled away from his lips and lifted the shirt off him when he raised his arms. She threw the shirt behind her and turned back to him, taking in the smooth lines and hard muscle of his chest and torso. She leaned in and kissed his neck, biting softly. Her lips trailed down his collarbone, biting and sucking near his anti-possession tattoo.

Dean’s hand found its way to her hair and tugged slightly, pulling her mouth away from his collarbone. He leaned and kissed her, roughly. His entire body felt like fire, burning for her and the things she was doing to him. He was painfully hard already, and all they had done was kiss.

He pulled her away from him, his hands still in her hair. “Shit, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I think I do” she smiled, biting her lip. Her hand ran down his body, before she slowly rubbed it along the crotch of his jeans. She hummed as she felt him, hard just for her.

With a cheeky grin, she quickly started on jeans. She leaned in and kissed the middle of his chest. She slowly started to lower herself and kissed down his body. Her knees landed on the floor as her hands unzipped and pulled his jeans down. His cock sprung free, causing her to moan at the sight.

“Fuck” she whispered, as she took his cock in her hand.

Y/N leaned in and licked the tip of his cock, tasting the salty pre-cum on her tongue. She pressed her lips to the tip before trailing them down his shaft, heading straight for his balls as she began to stroke him with her hand. Her tongue ran over each ball, causing a sigh from Dean. She continued to do that for a few more strokes before she flattened her tongue, travelling all the way up his cock once more. Dean’s hands slipped into her hair as she took the tip in her mouth. She bobbed her head back and forth, sucking softly.

“Fuck, Y/N, just like that,” he urged her on. He clamped his eyes shut and threw his head back against the wall. He breathed in erratically as he looked down at her. “Shit, you look so good with my cock in your mouth, sweetheart.”

She took him deeper, trying to reach the base of his cock. Considering his size, she used her hand to stroke what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. She pulled back and sucked the tip, her pumping along his length. Her other hand stroked and cupped his balls, as he gripped her hair tighter.

“Your cock is so big, Dean. I love the way you taste, so fucking good” she breathed out as she stared up at him and licked a long strip from his balls to the tip.

“Fuck” he groaned. Now she was talking dirty. How did they get from hating each other to this point? It felt surreal.

She went to take him in her mouth again, but Dean stopped her. He pulled her head back by her hair as he stared down at her.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Y/N” he said, letting go of her hair and taking her hands.

Dean was completely naked as Y/N took in his form. An Adonis stood in front of her and she couldn’t believe she got to have him. If one night was all she got, then she was going to take it. She quickly got rid of her shirt and jeans, but then he stopped her when he saw her black and red lace bra, and matching panties. He leaned down and kissed each breast, her hands coming up and holding his head to her chest. She gripped the short spikes as he reached around and unclasped her bra, throwing it across the room. He gazed at her breasts, her nipples hard from the cool air of the room. He leaned in and kissed her nipple, taking it into his mouth. He nipped at it, causing a moan from her.

“Dean” she gasped, as she felt his hands travel down.

He grabbed her thighs and lifted her up, turning around and pressing her against the wall. He moved one hand around and teased the front of her panties, feeling how wet she was.

“So wet, baby. It’s all for me, isn’t?” he smirked as he looked at her.

“Yeah” she whispered, leaning her head back against the wall.

He rubbed his fingers along the crotch of her panties, feeling her get wetter. She moaned at the feeling, her eyes shut tightly.

“What do you want, sweetheart? You want my fingers inside you? Fucking you, getting you ready for my cock?” he asked, kissing her jaw.

“Yes” she moaned. “Yes, Dean, I want your fingers inside me.”

Dean leaned in and kissed her, hard. He reached down and pulled her panties away from her body, stretching them until the band snapped. He threw the ripped fabric over his shoulder.

“Dean” she scolded him, but the feel of his lips biting her jaw was overwhelming. She didn’t really care about him ruining her underwear.

Dean chuckled deep in his throat, his fingers rubbing the slit. His fingers became slick from how wet she was, and he inserted two fingers into her warm core. Her walls clenched around his fingers, as he continued to push them in and out of her.

“Shit, Y/N. Your pussy’s so fucking wet, my fingers are soaked, baby. God, you’re so damn hot” he said, smirking as he continued to bite at her jaw.

“Fuck, Dean, that feels so good. Yeah, right there” she moaned. She gripped the hair at the back of his head tightly, her hips thrusting hard against his fingers.

“So impatient” he laughed, as he curled his fingers inside her, rubbing against her g-spot.

“Fuck me” she whispered, incoherently.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he asked, smirking as he teased her.

“Fuck me, Dean. I want you to fuck me with that big cock of yours” she said, louder as she stared into his eyes.

Dean pulled his fingers out of her as she sighed at the loss. He lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist and gripped her hips, tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He moaned as he tasted her, his hand taking hold of his cock, sensitive with how hard it was.

Dean pressed the head of his cock against her slit. As he felt her tug on his hair, he pushed into the cavern of her pussy. He groaned at the feeling of her wet, warm folds against his hard dick and started to thrust into her. She moaned as she threw her head back, her hips thrusting up to meet his. Y/N had never felt so good. He was stretching her walls so perfectly, making her feel so full.

“Dean… you feel so fucking good” she gasped.

“Your pussy feels so fucking perfect around my cock” he grunted, as he gripped her thighs.

The rhythm of his thrusts was good, but she needed more.

“Fuck me harder, Dean. I want you deep inside me” she moaned. “Fuck me hard.”

Dean groaned and obliged her, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

“Oh fuck, yeah!” she moaned loudly. “Dean… oh god…” she gasped, gripping his shoulders tight, her fingernails making little dents in his skin.

Dean leaned in and kissed her neck, nipping roughly at her pulse. “Fuck, Y/N…” he moaned into her neck.

Dean lifted Y/N away from the wall and carried her over the bed. He pulled out of her and dropped her down on the bed. He turned her onto her stomach, admiring the curve of her ass.

“Hands and knees” he commanded, his voice deep and rough.

Y/N shivered as she did what she was told. The same tone she would get angry at and argue with was now turning her on so much.

She got into position, the anticipation for what was about to come exciting her.

Dean ran his knuckles along her slit, humming at the wetness. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to her entrance, his tongue licking her folds as he grabbed her ass and pulled her closer to his mouth.

“Fuck… Dean, oh fuck yes” her voice hitched, as her hands fisted the sheets.

He thrust his tongue in and out of her, moaning at the taste of her.

“Your pussy tastes so fucking good, sweetheart” he growled, his breath hot against her pussy.

“Dean… I…” she was unable to finish what she was saying. She leaned her head down and bit into her wrist, too overwhelmed by what he was doing to her.

“You what, Y/N?” he mumbled against her folds, before he drove his tongue in deeper.

“Oh please, Dean. Please just fuck me. Fuck me!” she begged. She couldn’t believe the things he was doing to her and how badly she needed even more.

Dean moved away from her and kissed the right cheek of her ass, as he stood upright. “So desperate for my cock. How bad do you want it, Y/N?” he teased.

“I want it so much, Dean. Please, just give me your big cock” she replied, looking back at him.

Dean’s hands gripped Y/N’s hips as he lined his cock up with her entrance. In one swift thrust, he entered her. She moaned, practically screaming as he began a fast pace, his hips thrusting deep as he pulled hers repeatedly onto his cock.

“Shit” he hissed. “So fucking tight, baby.”

The sounds of his hips slapping against her ass, their moans and harsh breaths filled the room. The entire motel could probably hear them, but they didn’t care. All that mattered in that moment was them.

Dean lifted one hand off her hip and slipped it into her hair. He pulled her up, her back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck her.

Y/N gasped as her hand reached up and grasped his short hair. “Fuck.”

Dean turned his head to look her in the eyes, her pupils blown wide with arousal.

“You like what I’m doing, don’t you, sweetheart? You like my cock inside you? Tell me how good it feels” he murmured against her lips.

YN bit her lip as she gazed into his green, lust filled eyes. “Fuck, Dean. Your cock feels so good inside me. So fucking big, fills me so good” she cried out. She took his other hand in hers, taking it off her hip and guided it towards her swollen nub.

“Play with my clit, Dean” she moaned. “Fucking make me cum hard on your cock.”

God, that nearly made him cum right there, but he had to hold on. She was way too good at that. His fingers circled her clit, adding to the pleasure that coursed through her body.

Dean continued to thrust into her hard and fast. He grunted loudly as she clenched around him. “Your pussy takes my cock so good, baby, so fucking perfect.”

With her head still resting on his shoulder and her eyes still looking into his, Y/N gripped his sweaty short spikes in her hand, roughly. “Make me cum on that perfect cock, Dean. Make me yours.”

Dean felt her walls clenching him tighter, and he knew that she was close.

Dean pulled out of her reluctantly. Before Y/N could protest, he flipped her onto her back and climbed on top of her. She automatically wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her legs around his waist. He wanted to see her face when she came, he wanted to see what he did to her. Dean looked down at Y/N, her face open and something unspoken in her eyes. Suddenly, the air in the room changed. Something between them changed.

Make me yours. That’s what she had said. She wanted him, he wanted her and not just in this way, but in every other way possible, too.

Dean entered her again, as she gazed up at him, never breaking eye contact. Y/N could feel something change between them. It was quick and it scared her, but she invited the feeling in. His thrusts were deep and hard like before, but the speed became more languid.

Dean took her hands in his, placing them on either side of her head. He pressed his body closer to hers, without crushing her. He leaned in and kissed her, passionately. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers, their eyes locked on each other. The energy in the room was charged with something new, something exciting that should’ve been terrifying but wasn’t.

She squeezed his fingers tight, gasping for breath. “Dean, I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart” he nodded, “me too.”

His thrusts get slightly faster, wanting them to come at the same time.

“Dean, I-” she started but cut herself off as she moaned at the pressure building inside her.

“Cum with me, Y/N. Cum with me” he groaned.

Dean’s thrusts became erratic, as Y/N moaned loudly, her walls clenching tight around his cock. She looked into his eyes as the coil in her stomach snapped.

“Dean, oh fuck, Dean! Dean!” she moaned his name over and over loudly as she came hard on his cock.

“Fuck, Y/N… I, fuck” Dean muttered as he reached his peak, spilling inside of her.

They stared at each other as they came down from their high, breathing heavily. Dean’s hand came up and softly brushed her hair out of her face. He cupped her cheek in his hand and watched as she leaned into his touch, her eyes closed. He leaned down and kissed her softly. Y/N slowly dropped her legs to the bed as he pulled out of her. She hissed as the loss and the empty feeling, knowing she was going to feel the burn in the morning. She smiled at the thought; she didn’t really mind.

Dean slowly lifted her up and reached for the sheets. He pulled them down and laid her down, her head lying on the pillow. He got up and Y/N frowned, taking his hand in hers. Dean looked at her, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“One sec…” he whispered, as he walked to the bathroom.

Y/N felt the cool air of the room against her sweaty body and shivered. Before she could pull the sheet up, Dean walked out of the bathroom with a damp cloth. He sat down beside her and reached between her legs, cleaning her. She closed her eyes as the effects of their lengthy activities started to take over. She felt him leave, probably to clean himself and then throw the cloth in the hamper, but she ultimately didn’t care. The next thing she felt was Dean slide in beside her and pull the covers over them. She rolled into him, her head resting on his chest.

Dean looked down at Y/N and smirked. She was so blissed out as she rested on him. He wrapped his arm around her and listened as her breath evened out, falling asleep. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened on the hunt and how it all ended up; with them having sex. Sex that started off as pure adrenaline and tension release, before it became… something more.

He didn’t know what it was; just something that he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t used to this feeling of wanting to be close to someone in the most intimate way. It scared him. Wanting that for more than one night was also a foreign feeling, but as he looked down at Y/N those worries went away. He never thought he would feel this way towards her, but if he was being honest, he always did. He just covered it up and acted out to push away what he felt. Clearly it was the same for her. He could see it in her eyes tonight.

Dean pulled Y/N closer and shut his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t have any nightmares.

--X--

The morning sun shone through the gap between the curtains. Y/N snuggled further into the pillow, as she felt the rays hit her face. She turned away to avoid the heat on her face and cuddled into the other pillow. Her brows furrowed and her eyes slowly blinked open, adjusting to the light in the room. The space next to her was empty. The sheets were thrown back and only slightly warm, as she smoothed her hand over the sheet. She sat up, holding the sheet to her body. She looked around the room and only saw her own clothes on the floor.

Her stomach sank. There was no sign of Dean. He had left her there, and most likely on his way to whatever was next with Sam. She thought that last night had meant something, something new. Something unexpected, but amazing, nonetheless. She should’ve known this would happen. She took last night for granted and now she was paying for it.

Y/N’s head turned towards the door when she heard keys jingling in the lock. The door opened and to her surprise, Dean walked through holding a coffee holder with two coffees and a small, white paper bag. He tossed her room keys on the table and turned. He smirked when he saw that she was awake. Her hair was a mess and there were small hickeys forming on her neck; he felt a sense of pride as he remembered what occurred the night before.

“Mornin’ gorgeous” he said, walking over to her.

Y/N smiled. She doubted him when she shouldn’t have. It was better he didn’t know that; she didn’t want to hurt him by thinking ill of him for a split second.

“Morning” she sighed.

Dean sat down beside her, the coffee and bag still in hand. He placed them on the bedside table, then slowly moved in, kissing her lips softly. She smiled against his lips. She liked this new side to him.

“I got you those powdered donuts you like and coffee, hint of cream, just the way you like it” he said, when he pulled away. He handed her the cup and smiled.

“Thanks” she couldn’t wipe the giddiness from her face. This was so new, and it should’ve been weird, but all she could think about was how much she actually did care for him. He remembered how she liked her coffee from the one time she ordered in front of him, on that witch hunt. He was so freaking cute.

“So, last night was… uh, unexpected” he mumbled, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yeah, it was” she agreed. “But… god, Dean, it was amazing.”

He smirked. “Fuck yeah, it was.” He leaned in and pecked her lips. He couldn’t stop kissing her and touching her.

The room was quiet before she spoke again.

“So… what now?” she asked, looking him in the eyes. She asked the big question. Someone had to.

Dean took a deep breath, thinking it over. “I don’t know.”

She nodded but waited for him to say something else.

Dean took her coffee-free hand in his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. He smiled softly as he looked at her. “All I know is, after last night… I don’t think I can let you go.”

She bit her lip as her heart skipped a beat at his words. “Me neither.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed him, passionately. Dean deepened the kiss, nipping slightly at her bottom lip.

She pulled away, smiling again. “Who would’ve thought all that arguing and pissing each other off would lead to this.”

“Not me” he said, shaking his head. “If the result of that is more of what happened last night, maybe we should piss each other off more often.”

“You better not, if you know what’s good for you, Winchester” she said, as she playfully glared at him.

“I solemnly swear that I’ll try not to” he chuckled.

She laughed. “That’s all I ask.”

She leaned in and kissed him. She smiled as he immediately deepened the kiss once again. Their lips moved against each other’s slowly, but she frowned as he pulled away too soon.

Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t look happy to cut things short. “I wish I could start something up again, but I gotta go. Sam called while I was on my way back here. We gotta head back to the Bunker. Something about Cas needing our help.”

“It’s okay, I understand” she smiled softly, cupping his cheek and grazing her thumb over his stubble.

He leaned into her touch before turning his head and kissing her hand. “Come to the Bunker.”

She nodded. “I will. I just have to do some things for a friend, but I can be there next week.”

“Really?” he asked, trying to not sound too hopeful. It was adorable.

“Of course. I’ve been hearing about it from Jody for so long, I can’t wait to see it myself” she replied, still stroking his cheek.

“I can’t wait to show you” he said, quietly.

She beamed as she leaned in and kissed him.

“Y/N… I really am sorry about what I said. You’re a damn good hunter and I shouldn’t have doubted you-” he started but she covered his mouth with her hand.

She shook her head as she looked into his confused eyes. “You don’t need to apologize anymore, Dean. Clean slate, okay?”

He nodded. She dropped her hand from his mouth. “Clean slate.”

They gazed at each other for a little too long, feeling the same heat from last night rise within themselves.

“You better go. Sam’s waiting for you” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Dean groaned. “Yeah.”

Dean reluctantly stood up from the bed and picked up his coffee. He opened the bag and took out one donut, leaving the other two for her. He took a bite and she giggled as the powder stuck to his mouth. She sat up on her knees, hugging the sheet to her body. He cupped her face and kissed her. It was soft and brief but held everything she needed to know behind it.

“You taste good” she smiled, licking her lips and tasting the powder.

He winked. “You taste better.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “See you soon.”

He nodded and kissed her again, once, twice.

Dean winked at her as he walked to the door, before he was gone. She could pinch herself at how everything played out last night. She couldn’t believe it but damn it, she was excited to see what happened next for her and Dean.

Walking towards the Impala, he bit back a smirk. Sam wondered where he had been all night, but Dean didn’t say anything. He probably wouldn’t; at least not for the next hundred miles. It gave him time to think over how everything changed between him and Y/N. They went from hating each other to something much, much better.

He suddenly couldn’t wait for the next week to arrive, and neither could she. They still had a lot to talk about and work out, but one thing was for sure.

They really owed Jody big time.

Tags: @flamencodiva @hobby27

#dean x female!reader #dean x female!reader one shot #dean x female!reader smut #dean winchester #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester smut #supernatural one shot #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction

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stxrrywildflower · 4 years

Text

love you goodbye (s.r)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - “it’s inevitable everything that’s good comes to an end”

warnings - angst, fighting

there was something about love that people fantacized about.

finding your perfect partner, living your lives together, maybe having a family - it was something most aspired towards.

it was a natural reaction, companionship was a basic human need after all. it gave people a sense of belonging.

at first, spencer seemed to be your other half. he taught you how to love, how to be youself, and most importantly, helped you become such a better person. your relationship seemed ideal, all key points of what you wanted being checked off.

you were sure you two would end up together in the end, if asked, you would have placed a bet on it.

but over the course of your relationship, your time together slowly dwindled. in the beginning, you could easily tell spencer was fully committed. he actively tried to be home on time, and if he wasn’t, he was making it up in another way.

by the time you were a few months in, you slowly gave him more leeway when it came to work. his job was extremely demanding and you did not want to be the significant other who dragging the other down.

anyone could tell spencer took advantage of that in some way. he would start showing up ten, twenty, thirty minutes, and even an hour after when you expected him.

you always knew where he was, spencer usually got lost in work once he started. besides, he always let you know if he was doing something with the team.

you were really hoping tonight would actually happen. you and spencer actually sat down to plan out a date night. spencer had promised he would be home on time. but unsurprisingly, you were seated on his couch forty-five minutes after the time you were set to leave and just waiting for him to walk through the door.

the keys turned in the lock before the door opened a moment later. you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees and keeping your gaze on the coffee table in front of you.

“you’re late again spencer.”

he was quick to formulate an excuse, mind turning as he desperately tried to grasp some words that could help his case. even then he was still nose deep in work. “i know i just had an extra file to write up and then i-”

“i can’t do this anymore,” you cut him off.

spencer stopped dead in his tracks, meeting your downcast eyes in clear suprise. “what are you talking about?”

“us i mean,” you explained. “i can’t be in a relationship with you anymore. i just can’t.”

by now spencer had dropped off his work bag on the table and moved to lean against the kitchen counter. “can i go put my badge and gun away and then we can talk about this?”

you tucked your head down further after that. even during a potential breakup his first thought was work. “sure.”

he returned a moment later, resuming his previous spot almost immediately. a great concern was in his eyes. you could tell he was already formulating multiple theories on what was going on.

“can you please just explain this?” spencer asked.

you took a deep breath first. a lot was going to be revealed in the next few minutes and you wanted to be prepared.

“i can’t be with someone who isn’t here for me half of the time,” you explained calmly. “i’ve tried so hard to make this work with minimal complaints and i’m just done with it. you’re never here spencer. half of our dates get canceled and when you are in this apartment you’re working most of the time. it isn’t fair to me to deal with it anymore.”

spencer already started protesting. “but that’s not true y/n. i’m here as much as i can.”

“how many days nights have gotten canceled because of your work? how many times have i had to wake up to an empty bed because you’ve slipped out during the night? come on spence, you’re a genius. do the math.”

for once, he didn’t have an answer to that.

“do you realize how difficult this could be for me as well? have you taken that into consideration?”

something about the way spencer said that made you cower back. he took note of that immediately, guilt becoming his primary emotion. you quickly regained your stature, already ready for what you would say next.

“go on then spencer. twist that knife and turn this one on me,” you spoke, your tone already raised.

everything finally set in during that moment. you had never fought, never like this anyway. you didn’t want to fight anymore, you just wanted this to be over. the environment in the apartment was already becoming suffocating.

it didn’t feel like home anymore.

somewhere you considered to be your safe place, a place where you spent more time than your own home was no longer somewhere you felt comfortable.

the rooms felt foreign even though you had been the only one occupying. they no longer felt warm with the family like feelings you had filled them with. it lacked something, something you didn’t even know was replaceable at this point.

looking around, you tried to mentally grasp on something, anything that would give you a good reason to stay. but there was nothing, not even one of your gifts for spencer that resided one his shelf.

they felt empty, no emotional ties to them whatsoever. any sense of the love you had always felt had slipped out of the cracks and into the open air, almost as if it was impossible to catch them.

you almost just wanted to go back to the start of it all, when you were still naive enough to not see the faults in your relationship. you were mature now, and faults were the only thing you were seeing.

spencer let out a heavy sigh. “what do you want me to do y/n? there’s nothing i can do to change this.”

that question alone ignited something inside of you.

“maybe you could have started by actually putting some effort into this relationship,” you pointed an accusatory finger at him. “because i’m exhausted of waiting for you and always being the one let down. besides, it’s too late anyway.”

spencer stood quietly across from you, arms crossed and looking at you with sad eyes. it was clear that you had more to say, and the last thing he wanted to do was add more fuel to the fire.

“do you even realize how terrifying it is to be dating you? i don’t know if you’re even alive half of the time and i hope, i truely hope that i get your usual text letting me know you’re on your way home,” you spoke, desperately trying to keep your tears down. “everytime i get a call or text from someone that’s not you i panic. because more times than none it’s about you getting hurt and i have to be there to pick up the pieces. and i know that’s part of a relationship, to be there for each other, but it’s not fair to me to not get the same in return.”

the weight of your words crashed down with an uncertainty to them as they processed in spencer’s brain.

you were shaking, that’s what he took note of first. your fingers dancing across your your arms in a small effort to calm yourself down.

“i uh, i don’t,” you stuttered. “i need to pack.”

just as you passed spencer, his hand came out to hold your wrist. it didn’t hurt by any means, just took you by suprise. however, you quickly shook out of his grip.

“don’t.”

spencer frowned. “i’m sorry.”

you stayed in place, not quite knowing what he needed you for. you just wanted to pack and bag and go home.

“can you at least stay the night?” spencer asked.

you agreed after a brief thought, that’s the minimum you owed him. you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t going to miss him. it was a prime example of wrong place, wrong time.

there was an almost serene silence between the two of you as you headed down the main hallway and towards spencer’s room.

few words were exchanged in the whole process of getting changed and brushing your teeth other then an occasional ‘excuse me.’ it was almost as if whatever either of you said would make the whole night worse.

when it was finally time for bed, you slid under the covers first. spencer lingered in the room, he would need to leave in a moment to check the apartment anyway.

“can we not talk about all this tonight?” you pleaded.

spencer nodded. “can we just make a deal before?”

“what is it?”

“if you decide that in the morning you want to give us another try, i’ll be here and we can try again. okay?”

the silence returned for a brief moment. spencer waited on, hoping that you would agree to what he asked.

“deal,” you answered quietly.

the lights went off after that, your only source cutting through the darkness being the nightlight in the hallway.

you kept your back to spencer as he too got in bed. to be honest, you really didn’t want him seeing the tears in the corners of your eyes that threatened to fall. were you really so distant that you wouldn’t even let him see you cry?

even in the dark, spencer could already tell something was wrong. he hovered behind you, not quite sure how you would react to him right now. “is this okay?” he questioned. “yeah.”

spencer tentatively reached down to rest his hand on your arm, running it back and forth for pure comfort. a gently kiss to your bare shoulder followed.

you curled into his touch, already shifting back to press your back to his stomach. spencer wrapped an arm around you; neither of you were quite sure if this would be your last night together.

“goodnight y/n.”

“goodnight spencer.”

☆ ☆ ☆

tags - @blakes-dictionxry @hurricanejjareau @ogmilkis @ssa-morgan @gublertoon @ah-blossom @emilyslefteyebrow @holding-on-to-my-youth @agentshortstacc @emilysprentisss @bxbyspxncer @blakeprentiss @goldenxreid

#criminal #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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neakco · 3 years

Text

The Lost Temple Ch.3

Ao3 First Prev Next Masterlist

Tim and Marinette are captured by the enemy. At least they don't have to search for them anymore.

Ch.3 That's One Way...

Tim didn’t say much for the rest of the night. What is someone supposed to say when your told the entire universe will end?

After quietly making their way back to camp he watched her start on breakfast so he decided to make an attempt at coffee. He let himself get lost in thought as the water boiled, this was no longer a reconnaissance mission. Even without reporting back he knew that it was his duty to help save the world. There was no way he was going to make it home before the paperwork piled up again, he really wished Bruce would pay attention to his civilian work every once and a while.

He was distracted from his thoughts by an amazing smell. Looking up he could see that Marinette was cooking pastries. He looked around to make sure they were still in the jungle. How, just how? She was making more from scratch while others cooked over the fire.

Tim shook his head and focused on pouring his now boiled water into a French press while he let his thoughts wander back to the mission.

He knew he had to tell his friends something but Bart was loud. As long as there was a chance the enemy didn’t know what they were searching for. It wasn’t a large chance, especially since he was never that lucky.

It was still enough of a chance though that he didn’t want to risk informing Bart.

In the end he just asked Kin to casually sweep the ground to see if he was able to spot anything unusual. When asked why he casually answered that if they could find what the target was looking for first then they could go home that much sooner.

Marinette and Adrien both looked a bit surprised that he hadn’t told his friends everything. He did wonder how Adrien even knew she had told him but filed it under his ‘children of gods' theory. Less of a headache that way.

The rest of breakfast was filled with Bart's apologies for ever hating croissants and the revelation that Kon had never tried any French pastries before.

Adrien had tried to stop him from admitting this but he was too late. Marinette had already adopted Kon into her abused children club and sworn that she would bake him at least one of every pastry in existence after the mission was over.

She was still describing different mouth watering treats when Adrien finally shook her and reminded her that the mission came first.

Tim laughed while helping clean up as Marinette kept pouting cutely and muttering about noting being more important than good pastries.

Finally they split up to start their search. He made good time with Marinette despite her odd stops to check plants. Maybe it was a weird tracking habit.

They had been at this for awhile and he had just looked up to check for dropping snakes when Marinette tackled him to the ground. Before he did more then break the fall she had shoved sunglasses on his face, removed and hidden his Cape and had somehow pulled a long sleeved shirt over his head. He was actually impressed albeit a tad confused.

“Sorry" She whispered directly into his ear. “Don’t want our targets to know you’re a hero.”

“What..” He stopped as he picked up the sounds of several approaching voices. They were coming towards them in a semicircle and it was too early in the day for him to merge with the shadows.

Knowing it was probably pointless he still swung Marinette onto his back and carried them as high into the trees as he could. Once high enough they flattened themselves as close to the branch as possible. Their only chance was to hope this group was stupid, but he doubted they would be that lucky. Their targets probably would have learned by now to keep an eye for jungle predators dropping on them from above, and they were easier to spot then a tiger.

It didn’t take long for the group of men to have guns pointed at them as the apparent leader gestured at them to climb down. They climbed down carefully and Tim just barely caught the small smirk and wink she gave him moments before hitting the ground.

In a blink she was a completely different person. Not only was she scared and rambling but she physically appeared smaller. His French was a little rusty but he was fairly positive she was rambling about getting lost and assuming they were a predator.

“Enough!” the leader yelled. Tim tried to act as startled and scared as Marinette. Pretty sure he failed, but it seemed to fool the men pointing guns at them.

“Tie up the tourists, we will release them once we have what we came for.” He paused and looked at his men, “Do any of you speak their gibberish?”

Marinette clung suddenly to Tim's arm and shook as if scared. He may have found it cute if he didn’t know it was all an act. It did give him a chance to act as if he was trying to be brave for her.

He swore internally as he realized he had been paying attention to Marinette instead of the threat. Thankfully he had been at least noting that none of them spoke French.

The apparent leader gestured to two of his group, “Drag them back to camp and toss ‘em in one of the cages, I will find a better solution tonight.”

As they lightly struggled against their captors to keep up the illusion Marinette started her panicked rambling again. “I really hope you can understand me. I vote we go along and escaped after we've learned what we need.”

Tim tired to make his voice sound scared as he responded in French, “Quick thinking, you have my vote. I'll contact the others when I can.”

She smiled to show she heard before bursting into quiet sobs. Tim was a little intimidated by her acting skills.

It was roughly an hour before their captors emerged into a clearing and tossed them into a cage at the far end. They were left bound as one of them men explained something about the boss’s orders and how the stupid tourists couldn’t even speak a proper language.

Tim waited until the men were out of earshot before activating the comm with his shoulder. “Marinette and I found the camp. Keep scanning the ground. We will join back when we can.”

He looked over to Marinette to see her analyzing the camp layout. There position was weirdly ideal for it. They had gotten lucky that the cages were on a small slope at the back.

He made sure to keep to French in case any of the men came to check on them. “So how did you know they were coming? I didn’t hear anything until after you forcefully dressed me.”

He thought he saw her cheeks colour but it was gone before she spoke.

“It wasn’t what I heard but rather what I didn’t.” a sly smile graced her face, “A quiet forest is a human filled forest.”

He blinked and listened. It was easy to hear the noises of camp, but there was no wildlife, not even birds.

“I can’t believe I missed that.” Some detective he was.

“Don’t feel bad, you work mostly in a busy city. It took quite a few wilderness adventures before Adrien and I learned that quiet always meant either humans or danger.”

There was a lot in that statement for Tim to try and unravel later, for now he had to focus on escape. He tapped the release on his wrist to loosen a knife and started to slice at the rope. He faltered briefly when he saw Marinette’s ropes fall behind her, untied and uncut. How did she?

The thought ended as she held out a long wire, “How good are you with locks?”

“A lock like this should only take seconds.”

Marinette smiled to herself, the lock would only distract his clever mind for a fee minutes. At least she could trust him not to bring it up until the were safe.

“Done.” She watched him creep forward before signalling to show it was clear.

Escape was slow. The whole operation was larger than she could possibly have imagined. So it took them longer than she would like to sneak past everyone in order to make it to the main tent. But make it they did.

Red Robin had led them expertly and with easy to follow hand signals . Sure she didn’t work quite as effortlessly with him as she did with her kitty, but Adrien and her had gone through Hell together.

Being Red Robin had only known her a day, he seemed to instinctively understand her. Or maybe he thought just similarly enough to her that they worked. They didn’t even exchange words as he stood watch for her to search the tent.

As soon as the flap closed behind her Tikki flew out to help with the search.

“Marinette, over here.”

Tikki had found a torn document written in the language of the guardians. She carefully shoved it into her bag before glancing at the poor translation next to it. After a brief moment she decided to leave that since it didn’t actually contain any useful information and snuck back out.

She quickly nodded to let Red know she had what she needed and he started to led them back into the jungle. She was happy to let someone else take the lead as she let her thoughts wander. Honestly with an operation this large they were lucky that the temple hadn’t been found yet.

It was three silent hours before they found their way to camp. Marinette was finally starting to feel the results of her sleepless night and wished she could take a nap. She had to share what she had found, Red Robin had been more than patient with her and her secrets.

Tim watched Marinette call Adrien over to their makeshift table. He was expecting them to discussing things among themselves first, so he was actually taken off guard when she took hold of his hand to pull him over.

“I know your mission is only supposed to be reconnaissance, but Adrien and I would really welcome the extra help.”

He watched as Adrien flattened the stolen document out. He leaned closer to try and make it out but saw that it was in some unknown and possibly ancient text.

Marinette waved Bart and Kon over and waited until everyone was settled before speaking.

“According to the translation I saw, our target believes they are looking for an ancient treasure guarded in an old temple.”

That isn’t quite the case.” Adrien point out a passage, “This actually translates roughly to ‘That which even gods fear.’ Not treasure.”

Tim could see the grim looks on the duo's faces.

Bart looked surprised, “You can read this?”

“Impulse, don't just ignore that these people are going to unknowingly unleash something bad.” Kon turned towards the duo accusingly, “but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Actually, no. Even after reading this we have no idea what the temple is guarding. We only know the temple was lost.” Adrien shrugged.

Tim looked closely at the two, once again suspicious and looking for any sign of deceit. “How did you know about the temple?”

Marinette sighed, “The monks sent us.”

“Threatened us.” Adrien corrected. Tim saw her glare before deciding to ignore him.

“The monks hail from a sister temple with their own well guarded secrets. They tasked us to go rescue the treasure.”

Adrien gestured to the paper, “This is written in their language.”

Tim could observe some anger on both their faces before it was gone with Bart's appearance in their space.

“You were threatened? But you two are so awesome.”

Adrien was laughing too hard to answer, Marinette looked at him briefly with concern and Tim remembered what they had said about laughing. That couldn’t be good.

He was about to ask if the blonde was okay when Marinette spoke, “We were unofficially inducted into their order by a rogue monk that believed he was the last. The currant group don’t really like that they can’t remove us or make us follow their rules.”

Adrien's laughter died away suddenly, “We do this for them and the leave our loved ones alone. My girlfriend…” He trailed off as his eyes misted up.

“and my grandparents.” Marinette finished looking just as lost.

The heroes were all silent, this was a lot bigger than they thought.

Tim blinked in surprise as the pair's words fully settled. He would have bet money that the duo were dating. They had affectionate nicknames and absolutely no boundaries.

Kon looked to him and the duo which snapped Tim back to the problem at hand, “What's our plan?”

Tim spared only a small glance to Marinette before smiling confidently. “We find the temple first.”

Taglist @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #the lost temple #adventure #some humor #some angst #all chaos #rin writes

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mihidecet · 4 years

Text

SBi d&d AU: Tubbo

Aka: Tibi’s MCYT WritingTober, day 20!

From @the-only-gamer-gost ‘s list of prompts, another entry for “Fanmade AU” ahahah And as requested by a super cool anon: “ i'd love to see more of tommy's backstory in the d&d au! especially if we can meet tubbo?” :D

Ask and you shall receive! You can also find Tubbo’s reference sheet made by the wonderful @whatimevendoinhere here! Also, @rigatonipastaroni made a super sweet comic about the reunion, waaay before the chapter was even posted!!

There is nothing quite as sad as a bard with a broken guitar.

It happens during a fight, a sadly-not-that-unusual spar with a rogue elemental that had decided to mess with a village just because they had been bored.

Absolutely unrelatable. Tommy's patron had commented, the absolute hypocrite.

Still, the overall business had been quite straightforward: get to the outskirts, find the bad guy, kick their ass, profit.

Nothing they hadn't done before.

And like everything they expected to go smoothly, things went wrong.

Tommy would say that thankfully nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was perfectly fine, and they'd gotten a particularly big reward for something that standard.

Wilbur would say, instead, that his guitar had been irreparably damaged, its neck snapped in half and body ripped apart, shards laying on the ground like blood, a gruesome heart-wrenching sight that would haunt him until the end of times.

Tommy's patron had warned him that his second-degree cousin was a bit dramatic, but maybe it was just standard bard behaviour.

To be fair, the guitar was mostly gone.

Wilbur had picked up as many pieces as he could and stuffed them in its case, but no amount of mending cantrips had been able to fix it. Phil had tried, but he didn't know how guitars worked and it was hard to discriminate where each shard needed to be placed in order to mold it all back together, like a freakishly hard jigsaw puzzle.

And Wilbur had been extremely proud of his guitar, as apparently it had been a gift and a memento of his grandiose adventures. Sentimental values and such.

Not that Tommy could say anything about it, not after the friendship bracelet incident.

For about a week, every time they stopped by a town, they looked for a carpenter first, a musical expert second, and an arcane expert third.

They never managed to fix it. The thing was, it happened to be a weirdly specific and skill-needing task, so nobody they found was either confident enough or prepared enough to do it.

So they moved on, and the bard's lament continued.

It gets to the point where one night, the innkeeper approaches their table during one of Will's performances - the tiefling had insisted in keeping the tradition of offering his musical entertainment in each tavern they resided in, now with just his voice and sometimes his flute, but being unable to have music as he sang and vice versa was truly different.

That night, Wilbur is singing a ballad so sad and tear-jerking that the innkeeper actually approaches them and asks if everything is alright.

"Oh- oh, yes, my apologies, everything is alright. -" Phil instantly responds, looking quite awkward "- It's just that his guitar broke, and we haven't been able to find anyone to fix it. It was of great personal importance."

The innkeeper nods understandingly, an expression of deep empathetic sadness on their face, before their eyes light up.

"You know, I might just have what you need. You guys are lucky, the Fixer Upper just arrived a week ago! If he doesn't know how to fix it, nobody will."

After obtaining a brief explanation of where to find this infamous "Fixer Upper", who apparently works for free and will probably ask for food, shelter or protection as he moves to the next town over, the innkeeper leaves them be, assuring them that it'll be the solution to all their problems.

Phil finds himself, despite the overall skepticism, feeling a bit of hope. If nothing, at least he might be able to convince Wilbur to buy a new one - make new memories.

Even Wilbur is less enthusiastic than usual when they tell him, but after all they've been redirected to plenty of miracle workers that turned out to be unable to do anything.

The only thing that feels a bit off, is how Tommy's patron keeps giggling in his head - the way he does when he knows something Tommy doesn't. It's a bother, but Tommy's too tired to try and investigate.

The "Fixer Upper" is staying in a farm just outside the village, apparently sleeping in the barn.

He comes to the village every couple of months, apparently used to circling back around the same couple of dozen of places, constantly travelling from one to the other and helping out whoever needs something fixed. The innkeeper that recommended him apparently had him fix their son's prosthetic leg, which has been working better than ever.

The fact that he never asks for compensation is what keeps them all on the defensive: nobody does anything for anyone without coin on the line, so Wilbur is already somewhat expecting to find yet another old relative making deals with young children.

Yes, he is still a bit bothered by the fact that his second degree cousin spends half of his time inside Tommy's head.

No, he's not going to bring it up.

Approaching the barn, an increasing cacophony of sounds greets them, and Wilbur starts looking less and less convinced and more and more like he wants to leave - not to blame him, the noises are definitely not reassuring.

They enter the barn, where one side is perfectly fine and the other has a bunch of mechanical and metallic parts strewn on the ground.

At this point, Techno has a hand on Wilbur's arm, either to instill some confidence in him or to keep him from running away with the shattered guitar.

Then all of them stop, frozen in their tracks, as something completely out of the ordinary appears from behind a wooden wall - that is quite an extraordinary feat, considering the peculiar array of people they are.

There's a huge block of metal, vaguely rectangular shaped and painted black and yellow, floating towards them. It has what looks like the spinny part of a windmill rotating at embarrassingly high speed over it, and the noise it makes vaguely resembles that of a low hum, or maybe a buzz.

Two large semi-transparent circles - its … eyes? - emit a soft light that shines against Phil's palm as it bumps against him, the elf cooing with an adoring expression.

"Hello dear, you're not one of nature's children but you are alive, aren't you?"

Even Tommy, who has no idea how magic or nature works - he made a pact with a demon for a reason, alright? - can see that it's an impressive display of craftsmanship.

Wilbur is looking quite confused on Phil's right, but he's no longer needing Techno to keep him from bailing on the whole thing. And to be honest, if somebody's able to make … this, maybe they'll be able to fix his guitar.

"AH- Visitors! Sorry, I hadn't heard you coming in-" a short figure stumbles in sight from behind a pile of apparently garbage.

The short man, who appears to be human, had wild brown hair, somewhat darker in certain spots where black oil seems to have gotten stuck. There seems to be oil and soot all over his clothes and hands, where bandages cover his fingers.

On his head reside a pair of goggles - multiple lenses of different thicknesses and colours appended to its sides - and he's holding a wrench as if they'd interrupted his work, which would explain the worrying noises.

The mechanic has a bright welcoming smile on his face when he appears, which immediately falters the moment he sees the infamous mercenary group, expression turning to fear. Which is understandable, given their fame of being quick, efficient and rather costly, unless they're working for the good of all.

Then it turns to shock, when Tommy takes a tentative step forward from behind Phil's back. Which is less understandable.

"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice calls, almost breathless. The boy takes off his goggles and blinks. The wrench he was holding clutters to the ground.

"Holy shit, Toms."

The warlock lets out a strangled yelp, then blinks out of existence in a puff of bright red smoke, reappearing right in front of the other boy and picking him up in a bone crushing hug as he laughs - more joyous than Wilbur's ever heard him - and the two of them fall to the ground.

When Tubbo is still a teenager, he loses his best friend to the prejudice and scorn of their hometown.

All they need to see are the buddying horns on his forehead, the flames licking at his fingertips, the reddening skin around his eyes, and they banish him.

They come for him, in the middle of the night, and find nobody but his parents in his home, because Tommy has always been smarter than he let on.

Half a day earlier, Tommy had said his goodbyes to the last few people that deserved to know where he was going; never once asking for his parents' forgiveness for something he always knew he was going to do - Tubbo had never seen his best friend more sure of anything, even at the worst moments, when the ritual was about to begin, or the few first weeks when he had to use all his coins to buy salve for burns.

And so Tubbo was left alone, left behind.

It lasted for one day.

Tubbo had never been particularly gifted in the craft his parents had tried to teach him - glass blowing was definitely not his forte, his hands too strong, his grip too tight - and he'd never shown any latent arcane power. Books on the arcane were long, boring and complex, the glyphs all looking the same and mixing with each other on the page.

But that didn't mean anything to him: he was going to do great things, with or without magic, and he was going to find his best friend again.

Fate wanted to keep them apart? Tubbo was going to stare Fate in the face and laugh.

If the glyphs and arcane chants of the mages weren't going to cooperate, he was going to force his hands into the fabric of the arcane plane and pull magic out by himself.

And again, why stick to prayers and dealings with other entities when he could just make it himself?

To be fair, it does take him a lot more time than the couple of weeks of research and half-and-hour-deal that was Tommy's experience. But Tubbo's always been a quick learner.

The day he finishes his big project, he leaves his home, ready for adventure.

He has a map of the coast, enough coin to pay for emergencies and a backpack full of the tools he needs to offer his assistance to whomever will need it.

His marked path will bring him around the same towns. Tommy is bound to pass by at least one of them during his travels.

Tubbo's going to be alright.

Tommy's eyes are absolutely not, under no circumstances, shining as he tries to squeeze the life out of his best friend.

Tubbo is just laughing, which is quite rude in Tommy's personal opinion, he should be struggling to breathe due to his impressive strength.

"Look at you! You made it!" The mechanic cheers, squeezing tighter - which, ouch, when did he become strong, it must have been all the working with metal, this is the worst possible outcome. Tommy lets him go for a moment, leaning back to splutter and wave wildly at the mechanical bee still intent on bumping its head against Phil's hand. By the Nine Hells, Tubbo made a living bee with the attitude of a puppy out of metal.

"I made it?! You made bees!" Tommy protests, feeling a swell of pride for how far his best friend has come. On a completely unrelated note, there must be light shining insistently in his eyes.

"I know! Aren't they cute! Ah! Let me introduce you to them!" Tubbo exclaims, hurrying to stand up - nearly elbowing Tommy in the gut - and grabbing his hand so that he can drag Tommy towards the bee from earlier.

Then he stops in his tracks - which makes Tommy slam into his back and get oil stains on his favourite shirt - as he realises there are three other people in the room, all staring at them with varying degrees of amusement.

"So, what just happened?" Wilbur asks, looking quite shell shocked.

#mcyt writingtober #sbi dnd au #now sbi&co #dnd au #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #tubbo

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alexthedrummerboy · 3 years

Text

I Need To Forget You

pairing: platonic alex, luke, and reggie (and bobby but only mentioned!)

summary: Before his parents kicked him out, his sister had been trying to teach him how to play the acoustic guitar. Andrea hadn't been quite the musician that Luke is, but she'd tried her best. Alex remembers being 15 and sitting on the edge of her bed, her guitar in his arms as she told him where to place his fingers. He also remembers complaining endlessly about how much the strings hurt his hands.

Another exploration into Alex’s feelings about his family after his death.

(plus self indulgent guitar playing inspired by that video Owen posted on Instagram of him playing the guitar in the dark)

authors note: I JUST REALLY WANT ALEX TO GET A SOFT ACOUSTIC GUITAR SOLO IN SEASON 2

trigger warning: homophobia and bad parenting (mentioned)

ao3

The studio is cold when Alex walks in. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, it’s barely five in the morning and everyone is asleep.

They technically don't need to sleep but Luke and Reggie like to try anyway. Alex finds he's too wired to even do that; he’s been this way since before he died.

He eyes his drum kit and walks over, gently the tapping on the batter head with the pads of his fingers. He doesn’t really feel like playing right now. The morning feels too quiet for that.

Then, he sees it. A six string in the corner that Alex assumes belonged to Julie’s mom.

He walks over tentatively, keeping his footsteps quiet as he approaches, almost as it he's approaching a wounded animal. When the guitar is finally within reach, Alex reaches out and gently plucks a string, listening to the muted sound of it quietly ring out. He smiles, though it feels bittersweet.

Before his parents kicked him out, his sister had been trying to teach him how to play the acoustic guitar. Andrea hadn't been quite the musician that Luke is, but she'd tried her best. Alex remembers being 15 and sitting on the edge of her bed, her guitar in his arms as she told him where to place his fingers. He also remembers complaining endlessly about how much the strings hurt his hands.

His fingers begin to itch the longer he looks at the guitar and before he even realizes, he’s picking it up and sitting on the couch, balancing the guitar in his lap.

It feels instantly different from his sister’s guitar. It has a rougher feel from the unvarnished wood, and the curves in the body of it fit differently in his lap... but holding it feels like home.

It’s a different kind of home, though.

Alex’s drums are a warm-kind of home. They remind him of long rehearsals and laughing until he couldn’t breathe. They feel like long talks about dreams and hopes with his best friends at midnight, and crying about his parents while Luke, Reggie, and Bobby held him.

But the guitar... feels different. It reminds him of locking himself in his sisters room and playing Green Day way too loud while their parents stomped around downstairs, pretending to live perfect lives.

It feels like fear; the fear he’d felt when he’d told Andrea that he liked boys the way he was supposed to like girls.

He hugs Julie’s moms guitar just the slightest bit tighter when he remembers the way his sister had hugged him so tightly, when he remembers how she’d told him (for the first time in their entire lives) that she loved him.

Alex takes a deep breath as he positions his hand over the strings and presses down.

It stings in the same way that it had the first time Andie had tried to teach him how to play, but he finds that he doesn’t really mind so much anymore. He begins to pluck a gentle melody and winces when one of the strings buzzes under his grip.

“Pushin’ past the limits, trippin’ on hallucinogenics.”

His voice is quiet and the slightest bit gruff from rehearsing all day yesterday, but it feels good to hear it ringing out in the empty studio. He isn’t sure when his eyes slip shut, but all he can see behind his eyelids are flashes of his parents disappointed faces, of Andie’s teary eyes.

The rhythm of Alex’s strumming picks up and morphs into something more aggressive the longer he sings.

“Rippin’ with my sinners ‘cause fuck it, man, I ain’t no beginner.” Suddenly, Alex is 14 again, sitting in church and shuffling uncomfortably in his Sunday best as he’s helpless to listen to the minister as he tells them to cast out sinners; sinners that Alex is too afraid to admit he identifies with.

His parents had always taken the ministers word as if it had come from God himself, so they’d done just as he said.

When Alex had told them he was gay, they’d cast him out. They’d barely given it any thought at all.

”’Cause I just couldn’t open up, I’m always shiftin’.” Alex sighs before launching into the next line, a sour taste in his mouth. “Go find yourself a man who’s strong and tall and Christian.”

The gold chain around his neck burns, heavy with the phantom weight of the cross that used to hang from it. Alex swallows. His eyes feel suspiciously wet as he continues to strum through the end of the song.

He lets out a shaky breath and leans back against the couch, catching his breath and letting the guitar just lay across his body. It’s quiet mornings like these that make Alex hurt the most. Mornings that are cold and unfocused and quiet; mornings that give him too much space to think.

He hears the sound of someone proofing into the garage and shoes shuffling against the ground and he sighs. He wipes his eyes before he opens them, seeing Luke and Reggie standing in front of him.

Reggie is sheepishly fiddling with his fingers and Luke looks vastly uncomfortable; like he’s been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to... but seeing them makes a comforting warmth explode in Alex’s chest.

“Hey,” Alex says softly, lifting the guitar off his lap and putting it on the coffee table, being careful not to scratch the wood. “How much of that did you hear?”

”Pretty much all of it,” Reggie says, flopping down next to Alex on the couch. Alex leans toward him almost automatically.

Luke joins them. Alex knows he isn’t great with vulnerability, but he can tell he’s trying, and that’s enough to make the tears threaten to spill all over again.

“You alright, man?” Luke asks quietly. “It looked like things were getting kind of intense.”

Alex sniffs, shrugs, and looks up at the chairs hanging from the ceiling. “I think so,” he says. “I just started thinking about my folks... and Andie.”

Reggie winces and bumps their knees together. Neither of them say anything, but Alex knows they’re listening.

Luke reaches for Alex’s hand and he welcomes the touch, squeezing Luke back just as tight.

“I just...” The words get caught in Alex’s throat, “were they sad when they found out?” He clenches his jaw. “A part of me wonders, y’know... maybe they were relieved.”

“Alex—”

”No, Luke, they kicked me out!” He says. “I might as well’ve died right on their porch the night my Dad told me to pack my shit and leave!”

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but it just happens. He gives Reggie an apologetic look. Alex knows how he gets when people yell.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It does if it’s hurting you,” Reggie says quietly. “Have you thought about tracking them down?”

Alex tugs at his chain as Reggie’s question twists and turns in his mind.

Surprisingly, he hasn’t. Not really. The minute he stepped out of that house, his parents had stopped feeling like family. Luke, Reggie, and Bobby had been his family for far longer than his parents had been.

“No,” Alex says after a moment. “They aren’t my family anymore. You guys are.”

Luke bumps their shoulders together and Alex smiles, grabbing Reggie’s hand with his free one.

“What about Andie?” Luke asks, stroking his thumb across the back of Alex’s hand. “You told us she was chill when you came out.”

Hearing Luke say her name stings in a way he hadn’t expected.

“She was.” Alex looks at the guitar sitting on the coffee table. “I do wonder sometimes, I guess but... what good would that do? It’s not like I could talk to her. And even if I could, it’s not... I couldn’t hurt her like that.”

Reggie furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Alex sighs. “If she did mourn me when I d-died...” for some reason saying the ‘d’ word feels harder than it’s ever felt, “I couldn’t put her through that again just to ask her whether or not mom and died cried at my funeral.”

All three of them fall silent as the morning sun finally starts to rise. Alex leans his head back and feels a smile grow on his face; because for the first time since all of this started, he feels... okay.

He hates not knowing so much about his own life (or... death, he supposes), but... death gave him so much.

“I know dying sucked.” Alex looks down at his, Luke’s, and Reggie’s clasped hands and smiles wider. “But I think this was... the best worst-case scenario.”

Luke grins, too. “Yeah?”

A sunbeam streams into the garage and catches against the glass of the window, causing a rainbow to appear on the very edge of Alex’s knee. It’s so perfectly absurd that he can’t help but giggle.

“Yeah,” Alex says breathlessly, letting go of Luke and Reggie’s hands so he can wrap his arms around their shoulders instead.

Because they’re all that really matters.

His family.

#alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #Julie molina #Julie and the phantoms #jatp #willex #writing tag

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help.

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio.

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

#keeping vigil #wr eddie #wr chatzy #wr eddie chatzy

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